September Song
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Frank's starting college and Joe's a senior in high school at last. Changes are in store for the Hardys!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 1

"…that will be all for today, ladies and gentlemen. We will be discussing Chapters 2 and 3 on Monday; please read them and be prepared." Professor Gillette removed his glasses and snapped his notebook closed, just as the buzzer sounded to announce the end of class.

Frank Hardy laid down his pen and flexed his fingers gratefully. He had been scribbling notes at a frantic pace for nearly 90 minutes, and his hand ached. Survey of the Criminal Justice System had sounded interesting when he'd read the course description, but he was beginning to suspect it was going to be a difficult class.

Frank sighed, pushed back his wavy dark hair, and began to gather his scattered sheets of notebook paper into a neat pile. He clipped them into his binder, and slid it into the backpack hanging on the back of his chair. He was glad this was his last class of the day and that he didn't have to hurry to get to another, although most of the criminal justice classes were held in this same building. Introduction to Criminal Investigation was on the third floor, Criminology just down the hall.

 _College is so different…_ he thought. _Classes only two or three days a week, running clear across the campus to get to the library…so different from high school._ He rose to his feet, stretching his long legs with relief. At 6'1", being scrunched into a lecture chair for an hour and a half was a strain. He shrugged his backpack over one shoulder and went into the hall, mingling with dozens of other students who were either rushing madly to get to another class, or strolling casually along, chatting and laughing. Spotting an unoccupied bench against the wall, Frank decided to sit down for a minute, reorganize his backpack, and wait for the crowd to clear.

 _What a difference a week makes! Ten days ago it was the same old gang, everyone together, just like it's been for so long. Now…._ Frank frowned, brows drawing together over his brown eyes, thinking and remembering back.

For a long time, he and his younger brother Joe had been in school together. Even though they were in different grades, they had spent nearly all their out-of-class time together, often in company with their friends, Tony Prito, Biff Hooper, Phil Cohen, and Chet Morton. And for quite a while, there had been Callie Shaw and Vanessa Bender, as well. Now, abruptly, there had been a split, prompted by the inevitable graduation of Frank, Callie, Tony and Phil from Bayport High. Joe, Biff, Vanessa and Chet were still there, delighted to be seniors at last, but admittedly missing their friends.

Phil had gone to NYU, to major in computer science and technology. He tried to make it home on weekends, but spent Monday through Friday in New York, staying with an aunt and uncle. Tony was also attending Bayport Community College, but he was studying construction, intending on joining his father's construction company when he was through. He had had to juggle the hours that he worked at Mr. Pizza, to fit in a college schedule, and Frank rarely saw him on campus; their class hours didn't mesh, and weren't in the same buildings. And Callie – ah, yes, Callie.

Callie had applied to her father's alma mater, the University of Colorado, with no thought of actually going there. She had done it merely to please Mr. Shaw. To her amazement, the school had not only accepted her, but had offered her a large scholarship. Hesitant but unable to pass up the windfall, Callie had chosen U. of C., and had left for Colorado ten days ago, driving with her parents across the country with furniture and belongings stuffed into their Ford Expedition as tightly as they could be packed.

Frank had heard from her, of course. As soon as she was settled in her dorm room, with her computer hooked up, she had e-mailed him, and they had been exchanging messages every day. At first her letters had sounded doleful, with many references to past experiences they shared, and always ended with "I love you, I miss you SO much!" But the last couple had been full of the things she had been doing, the freshman activities she had attended, stories of the people she was meeting. And last night, her closing sentence was "Gotta run, or I'll be late for the party with Butler Hall. Jen and I are going over with Jonathan and Steve."

Frank had known she would make friends there, and they hadn't promised not to date other people while she was gone; it wouldn't have made sense. _But I'm so_ _lonely_ _!_ he realized, as he returned with a start to his surroundings. Someone was standing directly in front of him, waving a hand across his face.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice said. "Hello? Earth to – whoever?"

"Sorry! I was thinking." Frank looked up…and froze, mesmerized.

Reddish-gold hair, cut short and tumbling in soft curls about her face. Blue eyes – not the sparkling sapphire that Joe's were, but a soft blue-green, shaded by the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen… A few freckles sprinkled across her nose, and a somewhat hesitant expression.

"I didn't mean to disturb you – but I think you dropped this?" She held out a gold pen, and Frank recognized it as his, part of the set he had received from Con Riley and his wife as a graduation gift.

"Oh, yeah, thanks. I guess I did." Frank took the pen and dropped it into a pocket of his backpack. "How did you know it was mine?"

"You were sitting a couple of seats in front of me in the Criminal Justice Survey class, and I saw it fall when you stood up. There was such a crush, getting out, that I couldn't catch up with you right away." She smiled, and Frank noticed a dimple dodge into sight in one cheek. "I'm Megan Wright, by the way." She held out her hand.

"Oh!" Reminded of his manners, Frank hastily stood, and reached to shake hands. _She's so small! Can't be more than 5'2"_. "I'm Frank Hardy. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry I didn't see you in class – but you did say you were in back of me, right? I guess I should turn around more often. It was nice of you to pick up the pen." _Nice going, Hardy, just how much can you babble? She'll think you're a moron._ "You a freshman?"

"Yes, I am. You too?"

"Uh-huh. Did you go to school at Bayport High? I don't remember seeing you there."

"No, I didn't. I was at Lakeridge Academy in New York." Her voice went flat, and all the animation fled from her face; the dimple disappeared.

Frank was a little deflated by her sudden coolness. He picked up his backpack, swung it over his shoulder, and gestured toward the stairs. "Can I walk you somewhere? Are you going to another class?"

"No, I'm done for the day." Megan's temporary aloofness dissipated, and she smiled up at the tall boy beside her. "You can walk me to Parking Lot C, if you don't mind."

"I'm parked in 'B,' so I'm heading the same way." Frank assured her, and they moved toward the building exit.

They walked in relative silence for a while, occasionally commenting on something about the campus, or the class they shared; but it didn't feel uncomfortable or strained. It was a peaceful walk, and Frank felt some of his tension ease. It had been so long since he'd had any interaction with any girl but Callie, he had been somewhat uneasy. Megan was friendly and pleasant; she just wasn't very talkative. But the occasional glances she shot from under those devastating eyelashes told him that she was, at least, mildly interested.

"There's my car," she said when they reached Lot C, pointing to a dark blue Honda Accord. "Thanks so much for walking me here."

"Not a problem," Frank assured her. He hesitated a moment, then took the plunge. "Could I do it again, sometime? Or would you like to have a Coke together, or something?"

The blue eyes lighted like stars, and she smiled. "I'd like that very much. Very much." She unlocked the car door, slid into the driver's seat, and smiled up at him before closing the door. "See you Monday, then?"

Frank nodded, stepped back from the car, and lifted a hand in farewell as she started the motor. He watched her drive out of the parking lot, then abruptly shook himself, turned and headed for the van.

Frank and Joe had shared a vehicle for so long that the sudden change in schedules had been something of an adjustment. Now they had to alternate using the van and riding their motorcycles. Frank wasn't looking forward to winter weather on a cycle, and suspected getting another car would soon be a priority.

He unlocked the van, tossed his backpack into the middle seat, and slid behind the wheel. Driving towards the parking lot exit, he let his mind return to his recent encounter.

 _Megan…pretty name…pretty girl! Quiet, but seemed nice. Wonder if Joe would like her?…Probably, he likes anything that even_ _occasionally_ _wears a skirt!…Jen is Callie's roommate; I wonder who Jonathan and Steve are?…Is Megan in any of my other classes, and I just haven't noticed…?_

He blinked, recalling his whereabouts. He'd been driving on autopilot, and found he was nearly home already. He swung the van onto Elm Street, and turned into the driveway of a large gray stone house. Joe's motorcycle stood in front of the garage, and Frank noted Vanessa's red Wrangler parked next to the curb. He turned off the engine, retrieved his backpack, and went into the house, where he found Joe, Vanessa, and Biff in the kitchen.

The room seemed full of long legs: Biff was sprawled in a kitchen chair, his 6'4" frame dominating the space. Vanessa was perched on the kitchen table, swinging her feet as she talked. Only the back half of Joe was visible; his head and shoulders were hidden in the refrigerator as he rummaged through its contents.

"Hi, Frank!" Vanessa exclaimed, as the elder Hardy entered. "How's college life?"

"Fine." Frank gave her a smile. He stepped cautiously over Biff's legs. "Hey, Biff!" They high-fived, and Frank slung his backpack beneath the kitchen table, then pulled out a chair and straddled it backwards. "How is it back in high school, little ones?"

"Oh, listen to the big college man!" Joe exclaimed, emerging from the depths of the refrigerator with several apples, which he distributed around. "Aren't we superior today!" His words were scoffing, but honest affection glowed in his blue eyes when he looked at his older brother. Joe was an inch shorter than Frank but built more broadly, which made him appear to be nearly equal in size to his lean brother. He had allowed his blonde hair to grow, over the summer, anticipating football season when any extra padding beneath his helmet was appreciated.

Vanessa crunched her apple. "You should have seen it today, Frank! During lunch break, Joe, Biff and Chet absolutely dominated the upstairs hall! They were all wearing their letter jackets, and they walked the whole length, side by side so they took up the whole hall. No, I take it back. They didn't walk, theystrutted! You should have seen all the little freshmen and sophomores stare!"

Joe turned crimson. "Vanessa…" he protested; but Biff was chuckling deep in his throat.

"You can't deny it, buddy." he rumbled. "We made a statement!"

Frank grinned. It sounded just like something those three would do. He wished he'd been there to see it…well, maybe not. Where he'd been was okay, too.

"What's new on the crime-and-justice scene?" Joe asked now, leaning against the table beside Vanessa and taking a huge bite of his own apple. "Learn anything you didn't already know?"

"Oh, yeah, it's amazing what we didn't know," Frank answered, "I took notes all day; my hand may never recover. And I have a ton of reading to do over the weekend." Frank tossed his apple core at the sink where the garbage disposal was. "Why aren't you two at football practice?" he asked Joe and Biff.

Biff stretched lazily and grinned. "Ah, how quickly they forget!" he intoned. "Frank, old boy, we have a game tonight. No practice, but we have to be back at the school in an hour. Remember what it was like?"

"Oh – yeah. Right. Game tonight," Frank mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

"You're going to come, aren't you?" Joe asked him. He sounded a little hurt. "Don't you want to see us play?"

"Sure! Of course I'm going to come!" Frank assured him. "I want to see you try and cope without Tony at free safety and me quarterbacking! Southport'll slaughter you guys, since you don't have us!"

Biff aimed a mock kick in Frank's direction. "We're doing fine, thanks. Aaron Whitney does a nice job at quarterback, and Joe's getting used to being a wide receiver. And nobody pushes Chet around at center!"

Vanessa hopped off the table. "If I'm going to get home and do some homework before the game, I've got to go. Biff, do you want a ride home? Or are you just hanging here until time to go back to the school with Joe?"

"I'll go home." Biff stood up. "See you guys later."

Vanessa leaned close to Joe, who tousled her long, pale-blonde hair and pulled her into a tight hug, growling softly.

"Bye, beautiful. I'll see you after the game, okay? Meet you outside the gym entrance?"

She nodded, kissed him, and she and Biff departed. It suddenly seemed very quiet in the Hardy kitchen.

Frank pulled his backpack from under the table, and stood up. "I guess I'd better hit the books for a little while."

Joe surveyed him, blue eyes taking on a keen edge. "You sure everything's okay?" He cocked his head, frowning a little. "Missing Callie?" he added softly.

"Um – yeah." A little flustered, a vision of red-gold hair and blue eyes floating in his brain, Frank turned and headed for the stairs. "Yeah. Think I'll check my e-mail."

Upstairs in his room, Frank switched on his computer and accessed his e-mail. To his surprise, however, the "No Messages" signal showed. _Nothing from Callie? That's odd._ He quickly wrote her a note, telling her about the football game he was going to that night, and hit "send." Then he stretched out on his bed, grabbed a highlight pen, and opened his Criminal Justice textbook to Chapter 2.

Some time later he became aware of a tapping on his door. "Yeah?"

Joe poked his head in. "I'm leaving now. Is it okay if I take the van?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'll take my cycle. But then, do you and Vanessa end up with two cars?" Frank knitted his brows, trying to figure out the logistics of either too many people or too many cars.

"Why don't I call Vanessa, have her pick you up for the game, and then you can take the van afterwards, and I'll go with her?" Joe suggested. "There's a dance after, and I know you don't want to go to that."

"Okay. That works," Frank agreed, preparing to return to his reading. "If Vanessa doesn't mind, it's fine with me."

Joe reached for the phone on Frank's bedside table, and swiftly punched numbers. When he reached the Bender home, he quickly explained his plan to Vanessa, who readily agreed. Joe cut the conversation short, hung up, and slapped his brother's shoulder.

"There. All set. See you there."

"Okay. Hey, you be careful out on that field, huh?" Frank reminded him.

"Natch! Don't worry!" and Joe was gone, slamming the door. The house was quiet once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **SEPTEMBER SONG**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 2

Around 6:30 Frank laid down his book, got to his feet and headed downstairs. He found his mother, Laura, in the kitchen.

"Hi, sweetie." Blonde and blue-eyed like Joe, Laura was petite in size, her head coming somewhere near Frank's collarbones. She gave him a swift hug, then continued her task of putting together bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches. "I thought you might want something to eat before you go to the game."

"How'd you know I was going?" Frank asked, a little confused. Laura hadn't been home when he'd gone upstairs. He reached over his mother's shoulder and snitched a slice of tomato; she smacked him lightly on the wrist, but laughed.

"Joe left a note. He said Vanessa's picking you up?"

"Uh-huh. He took the van, but I'll bring it home." Frank walked across the kitchen to get a glass from one of the cupboards. He filled it with milk, then sat down as his mother set a filled plate in his usual place at the table.

"Well, you'll likely need to hurry. If the game starts at 7:30, and all the opening stuff – national anthem, team introductions – are before that, she'll probably be here within 15 minutes or so." Laura leaned against the counter and nibbled on a sandwich of her own. "I'll probably go over with Chet's mother, but we're figuring on getting there right before kickoff." She eyed her elder son thoughtfully. "How was school today?"

"It was okay…pretty good, actually," Frank replied, hastily gulping half his glass of milk. "But it's still sort of scary. Lots of homework – reading, anyway." He thought about mentioning meeting Megan Wright, but hesitated. His mother might think he was being disloyal to Callie.

"You will do just fine," Laura assured him, and walked over to give him a quick hug. "Your dad and I are so proud of you. I know he wishes he could be here, with you starting college and Joe's first game, and all, but that trial in San Francisco is taking longer than he anticipated. He said he hadn't even had a chance to testify yet, let alone be cross-examined, and he'd thought it would be wrapped up by now."

"It's okay, Mom," Frank said with a grin. "We're sort of used to it, remember?" He got to his feet as a horn sounded from outside. "Whoops, there's Vanessa. I've gotta go. Thanks for the sandwich. Maybe I'll see you there." He quickly kissed his mother's cheek, grabbed his jacket, and darted out the door.

Sliding into Vanessa's Jeep, he hastily buckled the seat belt; Vanessa was in no mood to wait for stragglers. She was shifting into reverse almost before he got the door closed.

"Hi!" she shouted, over the engine's roar. "I wanted to get a good seat in the student section. Sorry if I'm a little early."

"It's okay," Frank replied loudly. "I don't mind getting there early."

Soon they were in the parking lot near Bayport High's football field. Vanessa didn't bother locking her car; there wasn't much point in locking a vehicle with no top, but she did lock the glove and storage compartments. Frank noted where their van was parked, since he needed to find it when the game was over. He and Vanessa walked toward the entrance, and got their tickets. Frank grinned a little ruefully as he had to shell out an extra three dollars; being a college student had its disadvantages!

The two separated when they reached the stands; Vanessa heading for the section designated for the high school students, while Frank made his way into the seats where the parents and other attendees usually sat. To his relief, he saw Phil Cohen's familiar face, and hurried to secure a seat beside him.

"Hey, Frank!" Phil grinned and waved. "Tony's coming too, but he may have to leave early, to get to work. He has to be ready for the after-game crowd."

In a few minutes, Tony arrived, and the three spent the time before the game comparing notes on their classes, hearing Phil's tales of NYU, and speculating on how Bayport's team would manage, now that neither Frank nor Tony was there to help them. The stands were filling rapidly, for Bayport usually had a good team, and the townspeople were very supportive. Frank saw his mother and Mrs. Morton arrive, and waved, but they were too far away to say hello.

The high school marching band made its way onto the field, and struck up a somewhat wavering rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," while the cheerleaders solemnly raised the flag. Then the girls began jumping about, exhorting the crowd to cheer, while the football team came charging onto the field, led by none other than Joe Hardy himself. Frank, Tony and Phil stood with the others, clapping and whistling loudly as the band swung into the school fight song.

The coin was tossed, the teams lined up, and the game began.

At halftime, Bayport trudged off the field holding a precarious one-point lead. It was 7-6, thanks to a missed point-after attempt by Southport. Bayport's lone touchdown had come on a blocked punt. Both teams looked discouraged as they headed for the locker rooms.

Sitting in the stands had been a new experience for Tony and Frank. Even if they weren't playing in a game for some reason, they had always been on the sidelines with the rest of their team. Now they were separated. It gave Frank a strange feeling.

"Wow," Tony remarked, staring at the scoreboard with its unimpressive numbers. "Did we ever play that bad?"

Phil chuckled. Not having been on the football team, he was used to watching from the bleachers; there wasn't the wrenching sense of dislocation for him. "You played worse, last year, against St. Regis!"

Both Tony and Frank grinned, remembering. "I guess you're right," Frank admitted. "Doesn't it seem like we should be out there, helping them?" he asked Tony, who nodded emphatically.

After the halftime break, the game continued. It was a defensive battle all the way; neither team could get close enough to even attempt a field goal. The game was ground out between the 30-yard lines, and the defensive teams were the important ones now.

Frank watched Bayport's quarterback, Aaron Whitney. Aaron had been his backup last year, and Frank knew he was a capable quarterback. Tonight, however, he looked tentative. He was throwing the ball, but only short, sharp passes; no long bombs. His passes reached their targets, but the Southport defensive squad covered the receivers so completely that they rarely had any room to run. Whitney was sacked more than once, and had to throw the ball away several times.

Time went on. Third quarter…fourth quarter. Finally, there was only a minute and a half left in the game, with Bayport still clinging to that fragile one-point lead.

Southport was forced to punt once more. The teams lined up, and Joe was back on the 10-yard line, ready to receive. The ball was snapped, the punter put his toe under it.. .It was a high, wobbly kick, turning slowly in the air above the field, giving Southport's defensive line plenty of time to get downfield. But Joe was ready. He kept his eyes on the football, shifting position slightly to remain underneath it as it fell. It dropped into his outstretched hands; he tucked it securely into the crook of his arm, and prepared to run for his life.

From his seat in the stands, Frank watched tensely as his little brother caught the ball. And then, old habits kicking in, the quarterback's eye for changing positions on the field still true, Frank saw an unbelievable shift in Southport's defense. Perhaps it was a missed assignment, perhaps confusion as to who was where, but suddenly, there was a gigantic hole opening up on one side of the field.

Frank leaped to his feet, cupped his hands about his mouth, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: "JOE! GO TO THE RIGHT!"

Whether or not Joe heard his brother through the noise of the crowd was unknown, but he swerved to his right as if pulled by a magnet, put his head down, and ran for all he was worth, dodging outstretched hands and leaping downed defenders with the agility of a gazelle.

Bayport's defensive players realized what was happening, and boosted their efforts to a new high, shielding Joe on every side. Southport tried hard, but momentum was with Joe, and he scampered for the sideline, running a foot or two inside the line, one hand out to fend off any tackler that might break free. The last Southport defender almost caught him, diving for a shoestring tackle, but Joe juked to the left, then right again – and swept into the end zone unimpeded. He dropped to one knee and raised the ball over his head, a huge smile of triumph lighting his face. And then Biff reached him, scooped him into his arms and whirled him around, howling like a banshee. The rest of Bayport's team followed suit, nearly burying Biff and Joe in the mêlée.

Everyone in the stands was on their feet, and pandemonium reigned. Phil and Frank were hugging each other in delight, pounding on each others' shoulders, while Tony stood on his seat, pumping his fist and screaming "YES! YES!" Amidst all the shouting, Bayport quickly lined up for the point-after attempt, and the kicker calmly booted it between the uprights. 14-6, Bayport. And there were only 35 seconds left in the game.

The kickoff was a textbook on-sides-kick, and Southport never had a chance. Bayport's defensive line held them to three incomplete passes, and the game was over. The triumphant Bayport fans cheered wildly as their team left the field, and the band played the school fight song once more.

Frank, Tony and Phil slowly made their way down to ground level, high-fiving and congratulating as they went; then headed for the parking lot. Tony walked quickly, trying to get to his car as fast as he could; Mr. Pizza was a favorite hangout following games, and he had to get to work. He was practically running by the time they reached the parking lot; then he was in his car and heading for the exit with no more than a hasty "Bye!"

"Want to go get some pizza, or something?" Phil asked.

Frank considered it a minute, then shook his head. "No, thanks. I guess I'll go on home. I still have some studying to do tonight."

"Yeah, you and me both," Phil admitted. "Tomorrow?"

"Call me, okay? We can get together."

"That's cool. Later!"

Frank unlocked the van, climbed in, and headed for home. He was elated by Bayport's win, and delighted with Joe's game-clinching run – but he'd had enough for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 3

Frank awoke early on Saturday morning. He had come home from the game the night before, checked his e-mail for messages from Callie, and finding none, had written her a note with the outcome of the game, then had gone to bed. Sometime during the night, he had been dimly aware of Joe moving about in their shared bathroom, but had simply turned over and gone back to sleep.

He got up, showered and dressed, and headed downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Joe could be a demon if wakened for no good reason on a morning when he was able to sleep in, and Frank didn't want to tangle with an irate younger brother this early in the day.

Laura had left a note: _Boys: I've gone for a walk. Back around nine or so. Cereal okay for breakfast?_ Frank opened the cupboard where the boxes of cereal were kept and surveyed his choices. Nothing appeared especially appetizing, so he settled for corn flakes.

He was just getting milk from the refrigerator, when the phone rang. He hastily set down the carton, and stretching out a long arm, grabbed it on the second ring.

"Hardy residence."

" _Hello_?" The voice was soft, feminine, and somehow familiar. _"Is – is Frank Hardy there, please?"_

"This is Frank." _Who was it? Not Vanessa…_ _certainly_ _not Callie…_

" _Frank, hi. This is Megan Wright….you remember, from class yesterday?"_

"Megan! Hey, hi!" Unaccountably, Frank's voice cracked, and he began to cough. "S-sorry….excuse me….

" _I hope I'm not calling you too early. I was wondering…"_ She hesitated, then finished in a rush. _"I wondered if I could maybe buy you a cup of coffee this morning?"_

"Uh – uh, sure, that'd be great!" Frank finally managed to catch his breath and get his voice under control. "Where can I meet you?"

" _There's a Starbucks on the corner of 17_ _th_ _and Grant. Would that be all right? In maybe 15 minutes or so?"_

"That's fine. I'll be there. 15 minutes. Starbucks." _You're babbling again, Hardy! Shut_ _up_ _, you idiot!_

" _All right, see you in a bit, then. And Frank – thanks."_ There was a soft _click_ as the receiver went down, and Frank was left listening to a dial tone.

He hung up the phone, scarcely able to believe what was happening. _She called me up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to ask me out for a cup of coffee?_ Numb, he sat down and stared blankly at his bowl of corn flakes, then suddenly realized that if he was going to keep his date, he needed to leave. He dashed for the downstairs powder room to make sure his hair was decently combed, then grabbed his jacket and the van keys. Halfway out the door, he reversed fields, hastily scribbled an explanatory note to his mother, and darted out the door once again.

Precisely 15 minutes after hanging up the receiver, Frank parked near Starbucks and walked in. He spotted Megan immediately. She was leaning against the back wall, waiting for him to arrive.

"Hi, I'm sorry if I'm late," he started to apologize, making his way through a crowd of caffeine-starved Bayport residents to her side.

"It's okay; you're not late. I just got here early." Her smile was winning as ever, the dimple in evidence again. They moved together to stand in line and place their orders. Megan asked for a cappuccino, and Frank ordered a mocha; then, mindful of his lack of breakfast, also requested two cinnamon rolls. When Megan began to open her purse to pay, Frank lifted an admonitory hand to stop her.

"I'll let you pay for the coffee, since that was the bargain. But the rolls are my treat."

She laughed, nodded agreement, and they went to one of the small tables, carefully balancing their hot drinks, and settled into the chairs.

"Thank you," she said, inserting her straw through the lid of the steaming beverage before her and taking a sip. "I wasn't expecting you to buy me breakfast, you know." She glanced demurely at him from under her eyelashes.

"Hey, it's my pleasure." Frank took a bite of his roll, and arched his eyebrows in appreciation. "Say, these aren't bad!"

They ate the rolls and drank their coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Megan wiped her fingers on her napkin, pushed her plate away, and sat up a little straighter.

"I have a confession to make." Her words were very soft, and after one swift glance at Frank, she looked down at her hands, which were tightly clasped in front of her.

"A confession?" Frank grinned. "What would you have to confess?"

"I – I knew who you were before I picked up your pen, yesterday." She paused, swallowing hard. "I wanted to contact you, and that was a perfect opportunity." She reached down, felt in her purse a moment, and pulled out a folded newspaper clipping, which she handed to the puzzled Frank. He unfolded it, and found it was an article written about him and Joe; it had been published following their cracking of a car theft ring. There was a photo of them both, with Joe beaming all over his face. Frank, on the other hand, looked self-conscious and a little embarrassed.

"You wanted to meet me – because of this?" Frank felt as if someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach. He had never realized disappointment could hurt quite so much. _And you thought she liked you for_ _you._ _Fool!_

Megan nodded, still without looking at him. "I need your help. I had it all planned, how I was going to meet you and ask you to help me…" She stopped, for her voice was beginning to shake. "I didn't realize, though – how much I'd like you, right away…" She bit her lip, and finally raised her head and met his gaze. Frank saw that her eyes were filled with tears. One spilled over and slid down her cheek.

Chagrin and compassion swept through him. "Hey – hey, don't cry!" He covered her tightly clasped hands with his own, trying to convey reassurance through his warm grip. "It's okay – it'll be all right." He loosened one hand, picked up an extra napkin and gently blotted the tear. "Megan, don't cry, huh? Just tell me what's the matter." He smiled a little. "How can I help if you don't tell me what's wrong?"

"I feel – I feel like such a fool," she whispered. "This was supposed to be a business proposition. And then I saw you in person, and you were so nice, and…" She gulped and bent her head, then scrubbed violently at her eyes with her napkin. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this!"

Frank took a deep breath and exhaled slowly; waiting, giving Megan time to regain her composure. Finally she sighed, squared her shoulders, and faced him resolutely.

"I need your help, Frank Hardy of the famous Hardy Brothers. I need you to help me prove that my father was murdered."

"Your father – oh, Megan, no!" Frank was appalled. He tightened his grip on her clasped hands again. "Oh, man, I'm sorry – so very, very sorry!"

She smiled a little. "Thank you." The smile quivered, then her jaw firmed once again. "I'm sure he was murdered, and I think I know who is responsible. What I need is help in proving it. And in seeing that person prosecuted and punished. I want him behind bars for the rest of his life."

Frank watched her eyes flash azure fire as she made the last statement. "That's why you're in the criminal justice classes? Trying to find out the legalities – the chances of prosecuting this person?"

"Yes and no." she replied. "I was going to take them anyway, because I thought it would be interesting. Now I have a more important reason. Will you help me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. People still used landline phones! Please pardon this.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 4

Frank glanced around. The coffee shop was filled to overflowing with people, and the many conversations made it difficult to hear Megan's soft voice. "Why don't we go outside; maybe take a walk, and you can tell me the whole story." He quickly drained his cup, then rose and took Megan's arm to guide her from the little store.

Once outside in the bright fall sunshine, Frank steered her towards a tiny park a block or two away. "Come on, let's walk over to the park."

They walked in silence. Megan was tense at first, but Frank could feel, through the contact he kept with her elbow, that she was beginning to relax a little. He kept her walking until finally she halted and turned towards him.

"I'm all right now. You've been really nice, putting up with me like this." She pointed to a nearby park bench. "Could we sit down?" They settled onto the bench, halfway facing each other, and Megan began her story.

"We lived in New York until last year. My father commuted to Bayport; he worked as an accountant for Ted Crowley Manufacturing. You know where that is, out in the industrial area?" Frank nodded quickly, encouraging her to continue. "I hate Ted Crowley. He's arrogant and he's always rude. Every time I've ever seen him, he's been – creepy. Sometimes I feel like he wants to – no, never mind, that doesn't have anything to do with my dad!" She shuddered a little, and Frank reached to take her hand.

"Take it easy," he murmured. "Just take it slowly, and tell me everything."

She nodded and continued, clasping his hand tightly. "My father was killed in an car wreck, about four months ago. His car went over an embankment near the cliffs. Not into the Bay, but close to there. When the autopsy was performed, the medical examiner found that his blood-alcohol level was point two-five. So the police simply dropped the matter; just another drunk driver."

Frank whistled softly. "Point two-five? Megan, that's way over the legal limit!"

"I know, I know! but listen! My father would never have driven drunk. He hardly ever drank at all anyway – maybe an occasional glass of wine with dinner; something like that. He certainly never drank enough to impair his driving ability. He used to lecture me on the horrors of driving under the influence, and he told me that if I'd ever been drinking, I should never drive. He'd say, 'Meggie, just call me. No matter what time it is, or where I have to come; if it's a choice of you driving drunk or me coming to get you, I'll take coming to get you every time!' I know he hadn't been drinking. He didn't even like Scotch, but that's what the medical examiner found in his stomach!" Her voice was rising in volume and shaking again, and her hands, beneath Frank's, were so tightly clenched the knuckles were white.

"Shhh, shhh, take it easy." Frank soothed gently. After a few moments, Megan regained her composure and continued.

"So – he died. We had the funeral. My mom was almost completely devastated; they were really close, and she loved him very much. And so did I." She swallowed hard. "Ted Crowley came to the funeral service. I suppose he had a right to be there; he was Dad's employer, after all. But I hated it that he came. And afterward, outside the church, he came over to my mother and started asking her questions. Questions about whether Dad ever brought home work from the plant; accounting records, that kind of thing. My mother told him no, she didn't believe Dad had ever done anything like that. But Crowley didn't believe her, I guess. He started demanding that if Dad had brought anything home, it had to be returned right away, because it was company property. My mom repeated that Dad never did work for Crowley Manufacturing at home, but he kept on badgering her. Finally, I told him to leave us alone or I'd swear out a harassment complaint against him. He left, then."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Frank, this is taking so much longer than I thought it would. Just talking about it – reliving it – I didn't think I would get so upset."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Frank said. "You take all the time you want. Are you getting cold, or anything? Do you want to walk awhile?"

"No, I don't really feel like walking. Sitting here is okay. I'm just so awfully – I don't know – too emotional, I guess."

Frank hesitated a split second, then put his arm about her shoulders. "Just relax for a second, okay? We'll get through this; nobody's in a hurry."

She leaned against his arm. "I feel like I've known you for years, instead of only meeting you yesterday. Anyone ever tell you you're an awfully comforting person to have around?" Incredibly, a smile was forming; the elusive dimple flashed, and her eyes were starry again.

"Uh – no, I don't think so." _Anyone ever tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes on the whole planet?_ He cleared his throat. "If you're feeling better, go on with the story."

"Okay. Well, about a month ago – that's three months after my father died – our house was broken into. Apparently nothing was stolen, but the place was ransacked. Everything tossed around, turned upside down, spread all over. The police called it random vandalism. But I noticed something kind of odd about it. The most mess was in my dad's den, like whoever it was had been searching for something particular in there. I have no idea what anyone could have wanted in his den – all he had were accounting books and stuff, and old magazines that he intended to read when he had time, and photos of my mother and me. All our photo albums were in there. They were dumped around, but at least the pictures weren't damaged. When I remembered the way Ted Crowley had acted after the funeral, I wondered if maybe he wasn't the one behind the break-in. And then I started thinking a little more. I began to wonder if he might not be responsible for my father's death."

Frank sat up straight, startled. "That's a pretty stiff accusation, Megan!"

"I know, I know. And I don't have any proof of anything, so I can't go to the police. I don't have enough money to hire a private investigator; I'm going to college on a scholarship as it is!" She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "Frank, I know your reputation as a detective, you and your brother too. I realize you aren't licensed investigators, but you know your way around. I'm asking you – begging you – would you please, please look into this situation for me? I can't pay you much, but – "

"Don't worry about the money," Frank interrupted. He chewed his lip in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Megan, I'll be honest with you. It's pretty shaky. You don't have any proof, and nothing but speculation to explain why you believe as you do. Joe and I usually like to have something more substantial to work with."

Her face fell. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Hold on, I didn't say 'no' yet. I just said it was shaky." His dark eyes twinkled a little as he looked down at her. "It wouldn't be the first time we went out chasing phantoms."

"Then you'll do it?"

"Let's say we talk to Joe and see what he thinks. If he's okay with it, we'll give it a shot. How's that?"

"Oh, Frank, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Megan threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly, burying her face against his chest. Frank automatically clasped her in return, patting her back gently.

"Hey, it's not a done deal yet; you still have to convince my little brother that we haven't both lost our minds!"

Megan jumped up from the park bench, tugging Frank to his feet. "Can we go talk to him now? Please?"

Frank laughed, shaking his head in defeat. "Okay. I give up. Let's go." _Maybe_ _she_ _hasn't lost her mind, but I'm pretty sure I'm losing_ _m_ _ine_ _!_

Frank drove toward his home, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, watching to make sure Megan's Honda was keeping pace, and he wasn't losing her. But she stuck tight, never allowing more than one or two cars between them, and soon they swung around the corner onto Elm Street. Frank pulled into the driveway, and Megan parked on the street.

As he got out of the van, Frank spotted his mother on the front porch. She was doing something involving clippers and the hanging baskets of fuchsias, and she waved cheerfully at him.

"Hi!" she called. Then, realizing Frank had someone with him, she stepped down from the stool she was standing on, and waited, smiling at them both.

"Mom, this is Megan Wright, a friend from school. Megan, my mom, Laura Hardy."

"Hello, Megan, it's nice to meet you." Laura pulled off a gardening glove and extended her hand. "Welcome – and pardon the dirt!"

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy." Megan smiled shyly. "It's okay – my mom messes around with flowers, too. I'm used to it."

"Is Joe up yet?" Frank asked.

His mother shook her head. "He wasn't when I came outside. But it's – " she glanced at her wristwatch, "time he was awake. Even considering the game and the dance last night."

"I'll go wake him up. We need to talk to him." Frank departed into the house. Megan dropped to a seat on the steps.

"Please don't let me interrupt what you're doing, Mrs. Hardy," she urged.

Laura laughed, and resumed her stance on the little stool. "All I'm doing is removing dead blossoms and clipping things back. Tidying, I suppose you'd call it. This late in the year, it's not going to encourage them to grow any more, but it does make them look a little better!"

Upstairs, Frank saw his brother's door was still closed tight, but he circumvented that by going into his own room and through the bathroom. He quietly opened Joe's door, and surveyed his room. _Doesn't that kid ever hang anything up? It looks like Hurricane Josephine hit this place!_

Joe was sprawled on his stomach, face buried in his pillow, but he stirred at the sound of the door opening. _Hallelujah, he's not sound asleep, anyway!_ Frank thought. He tapped lightly on the door frame.

"Joe? Hey, Joe, wake up."

"Lemme 'lone," Joe mumbled. "'m asleep."

"No you're not. Wake up."

Joe rolled onto his back and squinted at his brother. "If I'm not asleep, why are you telling me to wake up?"

"Will you stop it?" Frank snapped in exasperation. "Come on, get up. We have company downstairs."

"If it's Chet, tell him to go away. I saw him yesterday. And the day before..." Joe turned onto his face again.

"It's not Chet," Frank said through gritted teeth. "It's a friend of mine from school. A friend with a problem. Maybe a case. Now will you get up?"

Joe opened one eye and surveyed his brother. "A case? That's a little more interesting." He flopped over once again and yawned. "Sure, okay, I'll be down in a little while…what's his name?"

Frank couldn't pass this one up. "Her name is Megan Wright. So don't come wandering downstairs in your boxer shorts, please!" He dodged out of the room, grinning.

"Since when do I wander around in my – hey, what'd you say?" Joe sat bolt upright. "Frank?" But his older brother was gone. Fuming, Joe shoved the covers back and hauled himself out of bed.

When Frank got to the bottom of the stairs, he could hear his mother chatting with Megan on the porch, and recognized ripples of laughter from them both. Smiling, pleased that they were getting along, he went out the front door.

"…I certainly don't have the proverbial green thumb," Mrs. Hardy was saying. "I have to have plants that can grow on their own, without much babying. But I'm awfully good at chopping things down and cutting things back!" She laughed, and Megan joined in again. Turning to her older son, Laura added, "Joe getting up?"

"Uh-huh, I think so." Frank didn't elaborate as to just _why_ Joe was rising so speedily. "Uh – Mom – you know, Megan and I didn't really have breakfast; we just had coffee and a roll…."

Laura lifted an eyebrow. "Why do I think this is heading someplace?" she murmured.

"Well, I just thought – if maybe you were going to get Joe something…" Frank let his voice trail off suggestively. He smiled as sweetly as he could at his mother – and although Frank didn't have Joe's ability to wheedle, he'd been watching him do it for 17 years, and had picked up the basic technique.

His mother shook her head and laughed. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that made her look very much like Joe. "Megan, do you like scrambled eggs?" She stepped down from her stool once more, set down her clippers and stripped off her gloves.

"Well – yes, but – but, Mrs. Hardy, I didn't – I didn't come here so that you would feed me breakfast…" Megan protested.

"If I'm feeding Joe and Frank, adding you to the mix won't make much difference," Laura smiled. She headed for the door.

"Can I help you?" Megan offered, starting to rise.

"No, honey, just stay put! Entertain Frank. If I need any help, I'll yell."

"She said to entertain me," Frank hinted, sitting down on the steps beside Megan, as his mother disappeared into the house.

"Fine. Let's talk about Chapter 3 of the survey book." Megan's aqua eyes twinkled as she made room for him.

Fifteen minutes later they were gathered in the kitchen, where Laura passed out plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Joe had appeared just as Frank and Megan came in from the porch. His hair was damp from his shower, and he was clad in khaki shorts and a tee-shirt emblazoned with the words: "NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF STUPID PEOPLE IN LARGE GROUPS."

"Megan, this is my brother, Joe," Frank introduced them. "Joe, Megan Wright, from my Criminal Justice Systems Survey class."

"Hi," Joe nodded, smiling. Frank saw his eyes widen in appreciation as he took in Megan's appearance. Frank cleared his throat softly, and threw Joe a warning look, over Megan's head.

"Let's eat," he suggested, tersely.

Over breakfast, they chatted mostly about the previous evening's football game. Joe was full of complaints about his bruises, and vowed it was the worst pounding he'd ever taken in his varsity career. Frank, who had taken his share of lumps as quarterback, the past two years, actually did sympathize, but kept teasing him about having become soft. Megan listened, smiled at the teasing, and finally asked questions that showed she knew something about the game. Joe's eyebrows elevated in surprise.

"You like football?" he asked in amazement.

"Very much," she replied. "I like college ball the best, but high school ball's fun, too. I don't follow the NFL much, but I do like the Patriots and Jets, of course, since they're sort of local teams."

" 'of course,' she says," Joe repeated. "Most girls don't like or understand football. Even Vanessa prefers basketball."

"That's because she can beat you occasionally," Laura commented dryly.

"Only because I let her!" Joe countered.

Frank was silent, thinking. _Callie hated football. She'd go to the games, because I was playing, but she never understood any of it. And she made sure I knew it._

When breakfast was done, Laura let the three teens clear up the mess and load the dishwasher, while she returned to her plants. Finished with that task, they went into the family room, and sat down.

"Megan needs our help," Frank began. "I want you to listen, and tell me what you think." Glancing at Megan for permission, he began to talk, telling the story as concisely as he could. Joe listened intently, blue eyes flicking from Frank's face to Megan's, and back again. He winced and murmured "I'm sorry," when Mr. Wright's death was mentioned, but otherwise remained quiet until Frank finished talking.

Then he spoke. "I think you're both out of your minds," he said bluntly.

Megan bit her lip. "I knew you were going to say that," she murmured. "I suppose you're right." She moved as if to rise.

"Hold on, wait a sec, I didn't finish!" Joe forestalled her. "I think you're both out of your minds, but I'm willing to go along with it anyway. It's not the craziest thing we've done, by a long shot."

Megan stared at him in disbelief. "But – but – Frank told me there was no evidence to work with…"

"So we go out and find some," Joe grinned. "We just have to decide where to start."

"You – I – I don't know what to say – how to thank you…" she whispered.

"Better not start throwing bouquets just yet," Frank reminded her. "We haven't done anything except agree to attempt to look into the situation."

"But that's more than I had before. And – " her eyes sparkled, in a way that Frank was beginning to recognize: she had something important to say. "I think I have a plan."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level.

Thank you to all who have left such nice comments! If I didn't send you a PM thanking you individually, I hope you know how much I appreciate it.

September Song

By

EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 5

Megan leaned forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I have a key to my father's old office at Crowley Manufacturing," she said earnestly. "He was forever locking himself out of his office; locking his keys inside. So he had a couple of extras made, and asked me to keep one. The other one he left at home, with my mom. I know she gave that back to Ted Crowley after Dad died. He wouldn't have any reason to think there's another one around."

Megan tilted her head to one side, trying to judge the boys' reactions to her words. "We could probably get in there after hours. They don't have a regular watchman, or anything; it's all computer security codes. Unless they've changed those, I know the code that would get us into my dad's office, both the building and his private office."

"And what if the codes have been changed?" Joe asked skeptically.

She shrugged. "I'm only telling you what I have that might help. If you don't want to use it, go ahead with anything you want."

"It's worth a shot," Frank decided, and was relieved to see Joe nod in affirmation. "Let's do it tonight. No sense waiting around."

Joe shrugged. "Fine with me."

They decided to meet at Megan's house at 11:30, and proceed from there. Having given them the address, and thanked Laura for breakfast, Megan took her leave, saying she hadn't read Chapter 3 either, and she'd better get home and do it.

After her departure, Frank and Joe sat down on the porch steps and stared at each other for a moment.

"Wow," Joe said at last, "You managed to make college real exciting, real fast, bro!"

Frank began to laugh. "It wasn't exactly my intention, you know! I didn't do it on purpose!"

Joe grinned. "She's pretty! Nothing like a damsel in distress!"

Frank slugged him in the shoulder, a little harder than necessary, stood up, and went into the house.

Going upstairs to his room, he activated his computer and clicked to open his e-mail, out of habit. To his gratification, it indicated that there was mail, and he eagerly opened the one marked "Colorado Girl."

 _Dear Frank,_ the message ran. _Thank you for writing about the football game. I'm glad Bayport won, of course, although high school football seems a little_ _small_ _in comparison to college games. We have a game this evening, here in our stadium, against Oklahoma State. Apparently the rivalry is very intense. Jen and I are going, of course, along with Jonathan. Steve is on the team. We'll get together with him afterwards – sort of the way we used to do when you were playing for Bayport._

 _I certainly am glad we didn't decide to make one of those no-dating-other-people compacts, Frank. It would have been a very silly thing to do, with me out here in Colorado and you back there in Bayport. A girl across the hall swore to her high school boyfriend that she wouldn't date anyone here – and she's already regretting it. Sorry to be so blunt, but I really am developing other interests, here._

 _Do try to keep in touch._

 _Callie_

Frank stared at the screen, hardly able to believe his eyes. He blinked, and re-read the words printed there. He felt sick to his stomach, and for a minute was afraid he was going to throw up all over his keyboard. He leaned forward and buried his face in his clenched fists, groaning softly.

"Hey, Frank, whaddya think about my taking my lockpicks – " Joe popped his head into the room with a perfunctory tap on the door, then broke off as he took in his brother's slumped figure. "Hey, are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Come – come and read this," Frank said hoarsely. "It's a message Callie sent."

Joe stood behind Frank, blue eyes rapidly scanning the words on the screen. He shook his head in disbelief, and read it again. It remained the same.

"Why that _little_ _bi—"_

"Joe!" Frank interrupted him, "don't…."

"The hell I won't! She is such a – agghhh!" Joe threw up his arms in fury and stamped around the room, muttering epithets more suited to a locker room than his brother's bedroom. Frank just sat, still staring at the computer screen. Finally, Joe calmed down a little and returned to stand behind his brother. He rested his hands on Frank's shoulders and squeezed, hard. "Frank, I am so sorry! I don't know what else to say. This is just – unbelievable. How dare she do this to you?"

Frank laughed bitterly. "At least she did it quickly. Sort of like yanking off a Band-Aid. Get it over with fast." He swallowed. "Oh God, I feel sick."

Joe wrapped his arms about his older brother, hugging him tightly. "Hang on, bro, hang on. I'm here, and you'll get through this." He clenched his teeth as he felt Frank's taut body shake with a dry sob. "Hang in there, buddy. Everything will be okay. You'll get through it."

 _And if I ever see Callie Shaw again, I'm going to plant my foot in the middle of her front teeth, for what she's done to my brother!_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **SEPTEMBER SONG**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 6

Somehow, the afternoon and evening passed. Frank remained in his room for the most part, lying on his bed and attempting to read his textbooks. Once the sick, shocked feeling had dissipated, he merely felt numb, with a heavy ache inside his chest that reminded him of when he'd once been sick with bronchitis. Only this time, penicillin wouldn't help.

Joe had jittered about, alternating asking Frank if he was okay, and making savage telephone calls. He told Laura what had happened, and she had spent some time in Frank's room, with the doors shut. When she emerged, her eyes were wet, but she assured a worried Joe that she thought things would work out all right.

"He's stunned, of course, but somehow I think he might have sensed it coming. Right now he's on an emotional roller-coaster." She smiled gently. "All of a sudden, Joe, I'm very, very glad that Megan Wright chose to go to Bayport Community College this fall."

Joe hadn't considered _that._ He thought about it for a bit, then elevated an eyebrow and nodded in agreement. "Couldn't have come at a better time – both her,  and her case."

"Case?" his mother inquired. "What case?."

"Well, just some preliminary snooping, anyway," Joe amended, mentally kicking himself for the slip of the tongue. "We're going over to her place tonight; you knew that, right?"

"Yes," Laura replied. "and that's fine. But for pity sake, Joe, be careful! With you two, snooping has a way of becoming total chaos!"

Joe grinned. "Always," he said enigmatically, bent to kiss her cheek, and went back to his telephoning. _Vanessa…(Boy, was_ _she_ _mad! Doubt if Callie'll ever get a civil word from her again!_ ), _Chet…(shocked speechless), Biff, whose first reaction had been similar to Joe's: to kick her teeth in…Tony…._ Tony had sputtered and sworn in the fluent Italian he rarely used – (Joe had had a sudden mental image of Tony as a young Mafia Don, putting out a contract on Callie Shaw!) and then asked if there was anything he could do for Frank. Joe told him no, but he'd keep it in mind. Phil's response was nearly identical: what could he do to help Frank? Joe realized yet again just how faithful these friends were, and wondered if Callie knew what she had done to herself with one e-mail message.

After a silent dinner which no one felt like eating, Frank flopped onto the couch in the family room and turned on the television, killing time until he and Joe could leave for Megan's. He had thought briefly about calling her and confiding his troubles, but decided against it. She didn't need anything else dumped on her shoulders. Joe, although he hated leaving Frank just then, had a date with Vanessa to go to a movie, and didn't want to renege. Promising he would be home before 11:00, he left to pick her up. Laura sat curled in one of the recliners, reading a book and attempting to keep an eye on her oldest son at the same time.

Time passed. Phil and Tony both called, but Frank assured them he was okay, and didn't really feel like getting together with anyone just then. _They're acting like I've just come down with some sort of terrible illness…pretty soon they'll be bringing me casseroles and jello, or something!_ The bleak humor of his thought made him snicker suddenly, and a little of the ache eased inside.

Mrs. Hardy went to her bedroom around ten-thirty, kissing Frank fondly and repeating her admonition that the boys take care if they were doing anything for a case that night. Joe arrived home from his date. The brothers quietly went to their rooms and changed into dark clothing, then filled their pockets with various paraphernalia such as Joe's lock picks, miniature cameras, and their penlights. They got into the van and Joe eased it down the driveway and into the street.

Megan's directions were easily followed, and soon they pulled up in front of a white, ranch-style house. A tiny, dark-clad figure detached itself from the verandah and trotted down the drive toward the Hardys' van.

"Hi!" she greeted them breathlessly, hopping into the middle seat and cautiously sliding the door shut, attempting to do so quietly. "I thought 11:30 would never come! Okay, you know where the industrial park is; head there, and I'll direct you when we're closer."

Once they reached the general area, Megan pointed out the building where her father had worked. Joe parked a fair distance away, and the three of them slipped from the van, trying to stay in the minimal shadows as they made their way to their destination. Bright halogen security lights turned the parking areas nearly daylight-bright, and concealment was difficult.

The parking lots were deserted. Apparently, no one worked late at Crowley Manufacturing, at least not on a Saturday night. The three teens walked as silently as possible, however; there was no sense in advertising their presence. Frank took his penlight from his pocket and shone it on the keypad beside the front door.

"Now we find out," Joe breathed, watching Megan as she confidently began tapping a sequence of keys. The boys held their breaths – and then the red lights blinked out, and turned green. They had passed the first hurdle! Quickly, they slipped inside the building, and Megan tapped another sequence on the board inside the door; one that would relock the door, but not set off an alarm when they moved about inside.

The entryway was mainly large glass windows. Light poured in from the parking lot, and they could see a reception desk, some chairs and a low table with magazines scattered across the top. A few soft security lights glowed dimly. Megan led the way with sure steps down a short hallway to a bank of elevators. She pushed the "up" button, and the door of one of the elevators slid silently open, lights automatically coming on inside. They stepped in, Megan punched for the third floor, and they were wafted upward.

When the elevator doors opened, Frank peered out cautiously, but the corridor was deserted. They walked quietly down the hall, Megan in the lead. She turned a corner, paused in front of a door, and pulled a key from the pocket of her jeans. Again, she touched the keypad mounted beside the door, while the boys watched tensely. The lights glowed green, Megan fitted the key to the door lock, and they were inside.

When the door was closed behind them, the three were in total darkness. "Inside office? No windows?" Frank whispered, and at Megan's affirmation, carefully felt for a light switch. In a moment, a fluorescent panel came to life in the ceiling.

A standard office: desk, a swivel chair behind it, and a couple of straight chairs in front. Banks of filing cabinets. A computer setup. Frank nodded as he looked around. _Basic setup. We should be able to work with this._

"Here," Joe said softly, reaching into his jacket. "Put these on. We were never here, okay?" He held out a soft wad of something that proved to be three pairs of latex gloves. Megan and Frank took a pair each, and all three donned them.

"Do you have any reason to think things are still in the same place as when your dad was here?" Frank asked Megan. "After all, this is someone else's office now."

"Only apathy," she replied. "Why change a method if it works? I'm depending that whoever took his place is too lazy to change the filing system." She walked over to the filing cabinets and tugged on a drawer handle, but it was locked. "Oh, darn!"

"Let me try." Joe had his tiniest lock pick in hand. In a few moments, the cabinet was open. Megan riffled swiftly through the files, and found what she wanted. "Here's the financial records starting just after Dad was killed. Let's work backwards from there."

Frank was carefully clearing the desk, creating space to work. "You bring us the files, and we'll photograph. Joe, don't bother reading stuff now, just take pictures as quickly as you can. We have to work fast!"

"I know, I know, I've done this before, remember?" Joe grumbled. He pulled out his tiny camera as Megan set a manila file folder down in front of each of them.

Two hours later, Megan replaced the last file and slid the drawer closed. "That's six months back. Is that enough?"

"It will have to be; I'm out of film," Frank told her. He patted his pockets experimentally. "Not a single cartridge left. And I thought I'd brought plenty! Anything left in yours, Joe?"

"Maybe one or two more shots, but that's all." his brother replied. "And I've got a backache you wouldn't believe. Let's split."

Frank replaced items on the desk, trying to remember their arrangement. "Fine by me. Let's get out of here."

They turned out the light and eased silently out of the door. Megan re-locked it and re-set the code, and the three began to make their way back to the elevators. Joe kept stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders, trying to ease the ache in his back as he walked.

Feeling quietly jubilant at their success, they were about to round the corner – when a sudden chime rang out! Someone was using the elevator – and it was stopping at their floor!

For a second, they froze, staring at each other. Then Megan turned about, ran a few steps and yanked open a door. "Cleaning closet," she hissed, beckoning the Hardys frantically. "Quick!"

Frank and Joe moved fast, sneaker-clad feet silent on the carpeting. Frank shoved Joe in first, then Megan; he slipped in and silently pulled the door shut, just as they heard footsteps approaching their hiding place. They stood perfectly still, in total darkness, waiting.

To his horror, Frank realized that whoever the person was, he or she was stopping right beside them! He breathed shallowly through his mouth, trying to be totally silent. Behind him, he could feel Megan holding her breath, rigid with tension. There was the clear sound of keys jingling, a lock clicked, and then the footsteps proceeded into the room right next to their closet and a door closed.

Frank let himself relax a little, panting to catch his breath. Megan exhaled softly and took a deep breath. From the depths of the darkness behind them, came a soft, pain-filled whisper:

"Damn!"

Frank turned on his penlight, cupping the head with his fingers so that only the tiniest bit of light leaked through. "What's wrong?" he breathed, turning just a little toward his brother.

"Something's jabbing me in the back, right where I got hit Friday night…and Megan's standing on my foot," Joe replied, barely audible. He was gasping a little; obviously he wasn't kidding about hurting.

"Don't move for just a second." Frank let a little more light through, and they surveyed their quarters. A mop pail and mop – which was what Joe had encountered – a large push-broom, and boxes and packages of paper goods: paper towels, bath tissue, Styrofoam coffee cups. "Okay, now we can shift." With the interior of the closet visible, they were able to move slightly apart. Megan inched her way forward, removing her foot from Joe's, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. You're little, but not that little!" He rubbed his back gingerly, where the mop had pushed in.

"I'm sorry!" she hissed. "I couldn't see a thing!"

Through the walls of their prison, they could now hear someone talking. The voice was somewhat muffled, but Megan cocked her head, listening.

"That sounds like Ted Crowley," she whispered.

"What's he doing here at three in the morning?" Joe wondered. "Wish we could hear what he's…" his voice trailed off. Frank followed his brother's intent gaze, and found he was staring at the box of coffee cups. "It's not a stethoscope, but…"

Luckily, the box was already open. Frank reached down and eased two of the cups out. He handed one to Joe, and the two boys silently set the cups against the shared wall, then leaned to press their ears against the other end. Once again holding his breath, Frank listened intently. As Joe had said, it wasn't a stethoscope, but the words were a little clearer now.

"…You're going to have to search that house again! It's got to be somewhere in there! Wright didn't have time to hide it anywhere else; it has to be in his house!… What?….No, I don't think his wife or girl have found it; if they had, they might have gone to the police with it… Well, I don't give a rip about that – so she's seeing some guy, is there a problem with that?….Huh?…Hardy? Those brats of Fenton Hardy's?… Oh, hell! Put a tail on them, then and see what's up. And get back into Wright's house soon, and find that tape!" There came the audible _bang_ of a receiver being slammed back into its cradle, and the voice was reduced to barely-heard mutterings, accompanied by the sounds of desk drawers being yanked open and shut.

Frank put his cup back into the box. "Come on," he breathed, "We've got to get out of here, now!" He eased the door open, tiptoed out, and headed around the corner, closely followed by Megan and Joe. Miraculously, the elevator stood open; they dived in and hit the button for the first floor.

When the elevator door opened, the three dashed for the entrance. Megan checked to be sure the doors were unlocked and the alarm turned off, before she shoved the push-bar down. They darted toward the lot where the Hardys' van was parked, running as silently as possible.

Both Frank and Joe had their keys out. Frank went to the driver's side, swiftly unlocking it, while Joe did the same with the sliding side door. As Frank jumped into his seat and put the key in the ignition, Joe picked Megan up bodily, tossed her across the seat, and flung himself in after her.

"Floor it, bro!" he gasped, and slammed the sliding door.

Frank already had the gears engaged, but he didn't 'floor it,' instead he drove sedately across the parking lot and out into the street. Once there, he switched on the headlights and continued at a normal pace through the nearly-deserted streets. When he was several blocks away from the industrial park, he pulled the van over and parked.

"We're trying to be inconspicuous, remember? If I'd peeled out of there like you wanted me to, everyone within blocks would have heard it." He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the back seat, then turned around to view it more closely. "And if you don't want me pulled over for a questionable morals check, Joe, get up off of Megan."

Cheeks aflame, Joe raised himself to a sitting position, glad for the dimness of the van's interior. Megan stayed flat, and for a terrifying moment he was afraid he'd hurt her when he tossed her into the seat. "You okay, Megan?" he asked, putting a tentative hand on her back.

She was shaking, and Joe's concern increased – and then he realized she was _laughing_ , giggling so hard she was unable to speak. Finally, she sat up, tears of laughter streaking her face.

"I'm – I'm fine – that was—" the giggles bubbled again, and the boys found themselves grinning in response. "that was absolutely incredible! I can't believe we got away with it." Her laughter was contagious, and both Joe and Frank began to chuckle, then laugh harder. For a minute or two, nearly hysterical shrieks filled the van. Finally, Megan managed to control her giggles. She brushed wet streaks from her cheeks with her fingers and tossed back her curls. "You two really try to live up to your reputations, don't you?"

Frank sighed with relief. "Not on purpose! Jeez, Megan, you had us scared for a minute."

"Yeah," Joe chimed in. "I thought I'd killed you or something, flinging you on the seat like that."

"I'm tougher than I look," she reassured him. She reached for the seat belt, to buckle in. Joe considered snuggling into the seat beside her, but a glance at his older brother made him change his mind. He wriggled between the front bucket seats and buckled himself into the passenger seat.

"Whaddya say we go get a pizza?" he suggested. "Breaking and entering always gives me an appetite."

"Joe, it's after 3 a.m.," Frank protested. "Nobody's open at 3 a.m. Besides, I want to go home and go to bed."

"Spoilsport," Joe sulked. However, he had to admit Frank was right; nothing was open. Megan reached forward and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"It's okay, Joe," she said. "We'll get pizza some other time."

As Frank drove to Megan's house, they talked of plans for the next day.

"We can develop those photos tomorrow morning – I mean, this morning," Joe said. "And you could come over in the afternoon and we'll start going over the files. Say, would you mind if we brought in some reinforcements? My girlfriend Vanessa's got a pretty good eye for reading files."

"Of course not," she replied. "Bring a whole troop, if you want to."

"It's not just the files, now," Frank interposed. "Crowley said something about your dad having a tape, Megan. That's what whoever-it-was was searching for when your house was broken into. And it sounds like they may do it again." He thought it better not to mention Crowley's instructions to have Megan – and them – tailed, or the fact that he and Joe had already been identified; at least not right now.

"A tape," Joe muttered. "Audio tape? Video tape? Duct tape? Scotch tape?"

"Don't get carried away," his brother admonished affectionately. "It's got to be either audio or video."

"I'll start looking as soon as I get home," Megan promised.

"Don't do that," Joe said. "Like Frank said, it's after 3 a.m. Get some sleep."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. As if mentioning sleep had triggered something, she yawned, deeply, and all three of them broke into laughter once more.

"Call me tomorrow, and we'll set a time for you to come over," Frank told her, when they pulled up in front of Megan's home. She nodded sleepily, and slid across the seat. Joe leaped out and pulled the sliding door open for her, and she got out, yawning again.

Frank, moving quickly, yanked open his door and hurried around the back of the van to take her arm. "You're practically asleep on your feet," he chided, guiding her toward the front door. "Get in there and get to bed."

"Okay – I – I will," she mumbled through another yawn. Then, as she unlocked the door and Frank turned to go, she caught his arm. "Frank?"

"Hmmm?" he said, turning back.

"Thank you." Megan went on tiptoe, reached, caught the back of his head, and pulled downward. When he was within reach, she pressed her lips against his for a brief moment, then released him. "Thank you so much. Good night." Then she was gone, and the door clicked shut.

Frank stood frozen, still feeling the kiss. It was only when Joe shook his arm impatiently that he snapped out of his daze. The two boys walked silently back to their van, climbed in, and drove home without exchanging another word. Wisely, Joe took the wheel.

"You okay, bro?" Joe asked finally, as he swung the van into the Hardys' driveway.

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah – yeah, I'm fine," Frank replied.

Joe glanced over, considered Frank's bemused face for a moment, then grinned wickedly. _Goodbye, Callie – and good riddance!_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Thank you to all of you who have left comments. They are very much appreciated!

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 7

Daylight came too early for the boys' comfort. Despite having blinds shut tight, a bright September sun peeked into their windows around 7:00 a.m. Joe had the ability to turn over and go back to sleep, yanking the covers over his face to keep the light out, but Frank, once roused, found it impossible to drift back into slumber.

He lay staring up at the ceiling of his room, letting his tired brain revolve around the myriad problems he had encountered in the past two days. _Callie…Megan…Ted Crowley…Darryl Wright…Callie…Megan…the possibility of hired thugs breaking into the Wrights' home again…someone tailing him and Joe…Callie…Megan…Megan…._

Giving up, Frank rose, showered and shaved, dressed in khakis and a sweatshirt, and wandered downstairs, where he discovered his mother reading the morning paper and sipping a cup of coffee.

"Morning," he mumbled, dropping into the chair across from Laura.

"Morning, honey," she smiled. "You look like you had a hard night."

"Just a late one," Frank told her. Suddenly he remembered the undeveloped film in his and Joe's jacket pockets, and he leaped to his feet. His mother stared in amazement as he dashed for the stairs, then shrugged and returned to the paper. She'd gotten over questioning her sons' and husband's unexplained actions, long ago.

Frank knew better than to awaken his younger brother; he merely tiptoed into Joe's room and rifled his jacket pockets until he found the film cartridges. He retrieved his own, then hurried down two flights of stairs into their basement darkroom. As quickly as possible, he started the development process, shaking his head in despair at the amount of work before him. This would take hours!

Around 10:30 he heard footsteps on the basement stairs, and then Joe's familiar rat-a-tat knock on the darkroom door. "Frank?"

"I'm here; where else would I be?" the elder brother replied waspishly. Little sleep followed by no breakfast was taking a toll on Frank's usually serene disposition.

"Come on, take a break. I'm here to take over for you," Joe said patiently. "Go on upstairs and get something to eat. Mom said you dashed down here like the hounds of hell were on your tail."

Frank eased himself out of the door, shutting it quickly behind him. "Mom said that? I don't believe it."

Joe grinned. "Believe it. Didn't you hear her that Thanksgiving when she dropped the jello salad in the sink and it went down the garbage disposal, _slurrrp!_ She's got more of a vocabulary than you might think!"

Frank laughed, remembering the episode Joe referred to.

"That's better," Joe said in satisfaction. "Now get outta here and let me work." He opened the door a fraction, slid inside and shut it firmly. Frank stared after him a moment, then gave up and went upstairs.

Laura was just sliding a pan of cookies into the oven when her elder son entered the kitchen. "Joe said you were having Megan and Vanessa over this afternoon, so I thought I'd better prepare for an invasion," she remarked. "Sit down, hon, and eat something, okay? I don't necessarily advocate cookies for breakfast, but I'm sure we can scrounge up something."

After downing a bowl of cereal and some orange juice, Frank did feel better. He was still sleepy though, and his mother suggested he go back up to bed for a while. Reluctant, but too tired to argue, Frank drifted upstairs.

Once in his room, however, he found himself irresistibly drawn to the computer. He switched it on and accessed his e-mail. Callie's note was the last thing he'd received, and he stared at it thoughtfully for awhile, then touched "Reply" and began to type.

 _Dear Callie,_ he wrote. _It sounds as if you are having a very good time in Colorado. I'm happy for you. I am enjoying my classes at Bayport Community, and have met some interesting people on campus. I am sure you are right about us seeing other people._ Frank grinned a little as he wrote this, and a wicked sparkle lighted his brown eyes. _Joe and I are currently working on a case, sandwiched in between his schedule and mine. Good luck this year. Frank_

 _Six years, gone just like_ _that_ _. Six years…_ He moved the cursor to "Send," hesitated a moment, then firmly clicked. When the computer stopped whirring, he squeezed his eyes shut and said "That's that." He turned off the computer, flung himself facedown on his bed, and was asleep in less than two minutes.

#####

A tap on his door awakened him, and he blinked at the clock. Two-fifteen. "Yeah?" he called.

The door opened and Joe entered. "The developing's done – well, the last films are in, anyway. Megan called, and I told her to come over around three. That okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine." Frank rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Vanessa coming?"

"Uh-huh." Joe sat beside him on the bed and looked him over speculatively. "You feeling okay ?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be feeling okay?" Frank said defensively.

"No reason." Joe held up his hands in apology – but Frank was already apologizing himself.

"I'm sorry, Joe, it's okay. I answered Callie's letter a while ago, and I feel better. All right? Don't worry so much about me."

Joe nodded, not completely convinced but willing to let it go for the time being. "Want to start spreading out the files? Mom and I moved some of the furniture back against the walls, so there's more room on the floor."

"Okay, sounds like a plan." Frank swung his long legs off the bed and got to his feet, and the boys went down to the family room, which looked even more spacious than usual, with the chairs pushed tightly against the walls and the couch shoved to one side of the room. Stacks of enlarged photographs were sitting on it, sorted neatly into piles.

"Hey, you've been busy!" Frank noted with approval.

"Yup." Joe sat down on the floor, reached for a stack of photos and spread them out in front of him. Frank followed suit, and soon the floor was covered with paper.

The boys were deep in their perusal of file pages when the doorbell rang. Joe leaped to answer it, then winced and grabbed at the couch back to steady himself.

"Ouch! I am so stiff!" he groaned. Frank chuckled without glancing up from his work, and Joe, who had hoped for a more sympathetic response, sulked his way to the front door. He returned with Vanessa, who surveyed the snowdrifts of paper with apprehension.

"What have I let myself get talked into?" she murmured, but gamely sat down and waited for instructions.

"We're looking for something that strikes us as unusual, Van," Frank started to explain. "We don't know what, exactly, just something that looks out of whack."

"Okay, I'll do my best," Vanessa said. She picked up a photo and began to scan the contents carefully.

Megan arrived a few minutes later; this time Joe stayed put and let Frank answer the door. When he looked down at her, Frank felt his pulse quicken a little. The late afternoon sun was shining through her red-gold curls, those amazing eyes were warm as they met his, and her dimple was in evidence as she smiled at him.

"Did you get enough sleep?" Frank asked anxiously as he ushered Megan into the front hall.

She nodded. "Plenty. What about you?"

"Enough," Frank evaded a direct answer. "Megan, this is Vanessa Bender, a friend of Joe's. Vanessa, this is Megan Wright. We're in a class together, and she's the one we're doing this investigation for."

The girls nodded to each other in a friendly fashion. Vanessa remained seated; she had learned to play down her nearly-six-foot height when interacting with people considerably shorter than she; but she patted the floor beside her.

"Pull up a piece of carpet and dive in, Megan."

It felt like light-years later, but it really was only about five o'clock when Vanessa brought their first clue to light.

"This is pretty slim – but it's the only thing I've seen so far. Look, this is the second time Ted Crowley's put money into the business account. Crowley Manufacturing's been skating on thin ice, financially speaking, and he's pumping money back in from his personal account.

"Nothing wrong with that," Frank observed, but he knee-walked across the floor to study the pages Vanessa was comparing. "He wouldn't be the first owner of a company to do it."

"I know that, but look. Look where he got the money. It's apparently from a life-insurance policy…both times."

"That seems awfully convenient," Joe commented, joining them. "And how often do you get money from life insurance policies? It looks a little funny for this large sum of money – Lord! $150,000? Frank, go take out a life insurance policy on yourself with me as the beneficiary, will you?"

"Up yours," his brother said amiably.

Joe grinned and continued: "Anyway, it seems odd for this amount of money to suddenly be available just when the manufacturing company is on the skids."

Megan had been studying the pages intently over Vanessa's shoulder. "It's something Ted Crowley did. Dad mentioned it once. I thought it sounded absolutely ghoulish."

"Tell us," Frank encouraged. They settled back, waiting for Megan to explain.

"Ted Crowley is doing something that is legal, and I suppose it's ethical, in a sense, but it's horrible, just the same." Megan began. "He buys life insurance policies from terminally ill people."

"Huh?" Joe said. "You've lost me already. Why would terminally ill people sell a life insurance policy? The whole point of a policy like that is to leave money for the survivors."

"Yes, but sometimes there aren't any survivors – well, I mean close ones, like a spouse, or children. Or the ill person needs money for medical care…or to take a trip they wanted to have all their lives and never quite had the time or money to do," Megan explained. "Crowley would buy these policies for a cash payment. The seller gets the money for whatever immediate necessity – and Crowley gets the insurance return when the person dies."

"Ugh!" Vanessa shuddered. "That is so cold-blooded."

"I know," Megan nodded her agreement. "But I suppose he does do a service, of a sort. The patients get much-needed cash, and Crowley gets his money repaid, with interest." She glanced down at the file pages. "But the unusual thing about these two injections of cash is that they each occurred right at the very time the money was needed most urgently by Crowley Manufacturing. If we'd had time to get the files from when my dad died forward, as well as these going backward, I wonder if there might not have been some more convenient cash inflows."

"You think the two may have a connection?" Frank inquired.

"I didn't think it; but my dad may have been suspicious," she replied. "If he was, and Crowley thought Dad was a danger to him – well, you can see where that idea leads."

"From what we heard last night, your dad has some sort of proof of wrongdoing," Joe reminded her. "It isn't just your suspicions anymore. We heard Crowley mention a tape that your dad had, that apparently implicates him – or someone." He frowned in thought. "Any ideas about where that tape might be?"

She shook her head dejectedly. "No, but I haven't really had a chance to look. It must be hidden awfully well, though, since the house was ransacked once and it wasn't found."

"It sounds as if you need a crew of treasure-hunters at your house, Megan." Vanessa smiled. "I volunteer for duty, right now."

Joe grinned. "That's my girl! Always ready for action! Well, count me in. But not tonight; it's already too late."

Frank had been silent for a long time, thinking. Now he spoke: "Joe, you have football practice after school, and Megan and I don't get done until four o'clock. Could we maybe come to your place, Megan, around five tomorrow? If your mom doesn't mind, I mean? After all, we're proposing to tear the place apart again."

"She won't object. I've told her what I'm doing, and she wants to find out what happened to Dad as much as I do. Five o'clock should be fine." Megan smiled suddenly, and it was like a ray of sunshine lighting the room. "I'll even order pizza, since Joe didn't get the one he wanted, last night. This morning. Whenever!"

They all laughed. "Vanessa, is that okay with you?" Frank asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'll be there. Are we going to include anyone else?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't think we can. Phil's going back to New York tonight, and I know Tony works Monday evenings. It would take too long to get Biff and Chet up to speed on this, at least for tomorrow night. Maybe later, if we need them."

"Well, this has been a gas, guys, but I need to get home. I have English Lit. to read yet tonight." Vanessa uncurled her long legs and pulled herself to her feet. As she did so, Megan's eyes followed her movements, widening in surprise as she took in the height the younger girl possessed. Vanessa looked down and laughed. "Yup, I really am that tall!"

"I'm envious!" Megan said with a laugh. "I've always wanted to be tall, and here I am, stuck at 5'2"!"

"You don't need to be any taller," Frank blurted. "You're just right as it is." He turned scarlet as both Joe and Vanessa began to laugh. Megan reached over and patted his hand.

Joe now got to his feet and took Vanessa's hand. "C'mon, babe, I'll walk you to your car."

"Okay. Bye, Frank…bye, Megan. It was nice to meet you. See you tomorrow afternoon. Oh, can I come by here and go with you guys? I don't know where Megan lives."

"Sure," Frank replied. "See you tomorrow."

Left alone, Frank and Megan sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments. Frank glanced over at the little redhead, and saw that her dimple had disappeared, and she was looking very sad. Impulsively, he reached for her hand.

"Megan, what's wrong? Aren't we doing what you wanted?"

She gripped his fingers tightly. "Of course you are – better than I had hoped! But – it's scary, Frank. Last night, I was terrified. And I have a feeling it's going to get worse."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Thank you to everyone who has left such kind feedback. I appreciate it very much.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 8

Per their agreement, on Monday morning Joe got the van, while Frank rode his motorcycle to school. Since the weather was still nice, Frank didn't mind. An advantage was a special section of the parking lot designated for motorcycles; since there weren't all that many students that rode to school, he had plenty of parking spaces to choose from.

Introduction to Criminal Investigation was Frank's first class on Mondays. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, and entered the large classroom, where he found a seat in the middle section, several rows back. Settling into the lecture chair, he dug out the textbook, his pen, and a stack of notebook paper, and was turning to hang his backpack on the seat when a pair of hands suddenly covered his eyes.

"Guess who?" a soft, familiar voice whispered in his ear.

"Megan!" Frank exclaimed, yanking her hands down and whirling about in the chair. "What are you doing here?"

"Whipple teaches two sessions of this class. Identical sessions. I checked with him, and found out that it doesn't matter which one we go to; the lecture is the same. I just switched lecture times. It fits my schedule okay." She laughed in delight at the surprise and pleasure on Frank's lean features.

"Sit here, quick, before someone else gets it!" Frank indicated the seat immediately in front of his own. Megan obligingly wriggled through the tight rows of chairs and scooted into the seat just as the professor entered the classroom.

"Good morning, class. Today we are going to cover…."

#####

When class was over, Frank and Megan rose with the other students and went out into the noisy hall.

"Do you have anything now?" Frank asked her loudly.

"Uh-huh," she replied, almost shouting to be heard over the clamor. "Chemistry, over in the science building. What about you?"

"Nothing until 1:00. Are you free at lunch time?" He put a hand on her arm and steered her toward the wall, shielding her from the crowd as they walked.

"I have twelve to two-thirty off."

"Want to get together?" Frank abruptly lowered his voice as they exited the building and came out into the bright sunshine. "We could grab some lunch before my one o'clock."

"I'd like that," she smiled, as they hurried toward the science building. Despite Frank's long legs, he had to stretch a little to keep up with her rapid-fire steps; Megan was in a hurry!

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Why don't you meet me outside chem class – room 312. We can go over to the student center from there."

"Okay, will do." Feeling daring, he put an arm about her shoulders and gave her a brief hug. "See you at noon."

She nodded and dashed into the science building, quickly becoming swallowed up in the crowd of people streaming inside. Frank followed her with his eyes until she disappeared, then abruptly turned and headed for the library. _Might as well put the time to good use, and do some homework. There probably won't be any time tonight._

 _#####_

When Megan emerged from her chemistry class, she found Frank leaning casually against the wall directly opposite the door. He smiled happily when he saw her, and reached for her hand. They strolled slowly towards the student center, where the various cafeterias were located.

Deciding to have something they could take outside, both Frank and Megan chose hamburgers and fries. Frank also got a milkshake, and Megan chose a Diet 7-Up. They went back out into the open air and found a table in the shade where they could be relatively undisturbed.

"Is everything okay for this evening?" Frank asked, as they finally settled down to eat and have some uninterrupted conversation.

"Yes," Megan nodded. "My mom said she didn't know where we could look that hadn't already been searched, but we're welcome to try. She may not be home; sometimes she has to work late. She's in the personnel office at Bayport Electric, and occasionally they have late meetings." She took a bite of her hamburger. "Mmmm, I was starving! I overslept, and didn't have time for breakfast."

"Megan—" Frank hesitated, unsure how to proceed. "You haven't noticed anyone following you, or anything, have you?"

"Following me? I don't know; I've never thought to look!" she exclaimed. Her eyes grew round with alarm. "Why do you think someone might follow me?"

"Saturday night, when Joe and I were listening to Ted Crowley, he told someone to keep a tail on you," Frank told her. "He knows you've contacted us, so there may be one on us, too."

"Omigosh!" she whispered. "This is awful!"

"Hey, no big deal; we've been tailed before," Frank hastily assured her. He popped a few fries in his mouth, chewing while he tried frantically to think of something to allay the panic he'd managed to induce with two short sentences. "Actually, you may have been followed before now, if Crowley and his friends think there's something at your house that they want. And nothing happened to you."

If anything, that made her look even more frightened. "But I don't have anything!" she wailed.

 _Hardy, how do you_ _do_ _it? She was fine until you brought up the subject of a tail. Now she's scared to death, you jerk!_

"Actually you may, but you don't know what or where it is," Frank said aloud. "And we're going to find it tonight. But I wanted to warn you to be extra careful, and keep an eye out when you drive anywhere. As long as you don't do something they consider suspicious, you're probably not in any danger.

"But – what about you?" she asked in a small voice. She bent over her soda and took a long drink, keeping her eyes on the glass.

"Like I said, it isn't the first time. And I think the same holds true for us: if we don't look like we're going somewhere suspicious, we won't be bothered."

"Coming over to my house will look suspicious," Megan reminded him.

Frank smiled. "Not necessarily," he murmured, and traced a design on the back of her hand with his finger. Glancing up, he caught her eye, and held her blue-green gaze with his until she blushed and smiled in return.

"It will if you bring Joe – well, maybe not, if Vanessa is there too," she conceded.

"See how well it works out?" Frank remarked smugly. "To the average eye, we're getting together for a double date – which, by the way, is not all that bad an idea, once we've cleared up this problem with Ted Crowley."

"Better watch out, I may hold you to that." she threatened, eyelashes fluttering.

Frank was about to continue flirting in this fashion when he happened to glance at his wristwatch. "Oh, nuts, I've got to go to class!" He shoved the last few fries in his mouth, leaped to his feet and grabbed his backpack. "See you in Criminal Justice!"

Megan watched him go, smiling a little. She looked down at the hand he had been stroking, and touched it gently.

#####

At 2:25, Frank hurried into the Criminal Justice Survey classroom, looking about to try and find Megan. He spotted her red-gold hair near where they had been on Friday, and squeezed his way through the rows of chairs to the seat next to hers.

"Hi," he said, squirming into the chair and attempting to get his long legs completely beneath the desk. "I'm really sorry I dashed off like that, at lunch!"

"It's all right," she replied, although he noted dismally that she didn't look very happy. "I know you had to get to class."

"Are you okay?" he began, but Professor Gillette rapped on his podium at that moment, calling the class to order. Both Frank and Megan settled back in their chairs and began taking notes; personal problems were temporarily washed away in the tide of information being presented by their teacher.

When the buzzer sounded at 3:50, Frank felt as if he'd been running a race. He stared at the notebook pages covered with scribbles, and wondered if he would ever be able to make heads or tails of what was written there. The class was interesting – and Professor Gillette wasn't a bad teacher – but there was so much to learn!

He stood up, gathering his things together. Beside him, Megan was doing the same.

"Do you want to just come straight over to my house, or go home first?" she asked as she picked up her book bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

Frank slung his backpack on. "I'd rather go straight to your house," he admitted. "but I suppose I'd better go home and come a little later, with Joe. And Vanessa," he added.

She nodded acceptance, and they walked to the parking lot without further conversation. Frank accompanied her to her car, and stood watching attentively as she unlocked it and put her bag in the back seat.

"Megan, I'm really sorry I scared you, at lunch," he said, finally. "I only wanted to make sure you'd be careful. I was worried about you."

She finally met his gaze, and smiled. "I know you were – are. And I will be careful, Frank. But it works both ways. Now I'm worried about you, too."

"Want me to follow you home, then go back and get Joe?" he offered.

She laughed. "And spend an hour running back and forth across Bayport? No way!"

"It's okay," Frank persisted. "I want to be sure you get home all right—"

"Frank!" She tiptoed and reached to grasp his shoulders and shake them. "Go get on your motorcycle and go home! I'll see you in an hour. Goodbye!" She opened her door, slid into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. "Goodbye, Frank!" The engine caught, she pulled the door closed, and began to back out of her parking space.

Frank quickly stepped back, frowning, and watched her swing the car out of the lot. Then he shook his head in defeat and headed for the motorcycle parking spaces.

#####

At five o'clock, Joe, Vanessa and Frank were gathered at Megan's home. Joe looked tired, and admitted practice had left him pretty beat, but he insisted he was perfectly capable of doing his share of the search.

"The family room seems the best place to start," he suggested. "The most likely place to conceal a tape would be with other tapes, right? Right? Tell me I'm right, people!"

"You're probably right," Megan conceded. "But when the place was searched, before, they scattered all the video and audio tapes all over. If they didn't find anything, we probably won't."

"I'll start going through audio tapes, if you'll show me where they are, Megan," Vanessa interposed, hoping to head off an argument between her boyfriend and the little redhead. Megan nodded, and indicated a cabinet with several shallow drawers.

"There. I'll help in just a minute. And then we can do books."

"I guess going through the videos is our job," Frank said to Joe. "Let's get to work."

It was a slow task. The four opened each and every tape box, checked the contents to make sure the labels matched those on the boxes, pulled out every drawer and removed the contents of each cabinet. With family tapes, it was up to Megan to verify the accuracy, and it took a lot of trial-and-error work to do so.

An hour passed, then two. Mrs. Wright came home and was introduced to Vanessa and the Hardys. She looked like her daughter; her hair was a darker shade of Megan's red-gold, and her eyes were also aqua-blue in color, but they were filled with sadness. She was welcoming and gracious, however, and immediately went to the telephone to order pizza for them all when she realized no one had had any supper.

The pizza arrived, and the teens grabbed slices from the box and kept on working. Mrs. Wright was helping now, too, so checking each tape's content was going a little faster. Eight-thirty…nine…nine-thirty. Everyone was becoming tired and snappish; Joe had slumped down on the couch and was holding his head in his hands.

"Mom—" Megan said suddenly, her tone inquiring. "What's this?" She held up one of the 8mm camcorder tape boxes. "It says 'Jake's Bar Mitzvah.' Who's Jake?"

"Why, I have no idea," Mrs. Wright replied. "We never went to anybody's bar mitzvah, that I can remember. And I don't know anyone named Jake."

Joe sat up abruptly. "If there's a tape there that you can't identify, we should probably take a look at it," he said.

Megan took the tape from its box, inserted it into an adapter, and shoved it into the slot in the VCR. She switched on the television, picked up the remote control and hit "play." The five of them watched intently as about 30 seconds of static showed on the screen, followed by more flips and squiggles. The screen went dark for a few moments, and then a strange scene unfolded before their eyes.

Two men were visible. "The dark-haired man – that's Ted Crowley," murmured Mrs. Wright. The other's face was in shadow, and his features blurred. Whoever had been filming had been fairly close, but at an odd angle, as if shooting from behind something, or leaning around a corner. At first, there was no audio on the tape, merely "sound flutter" as the camera established its speed. Then, came voices:

"… you mean, you want more?" Ted Crowley barked. "We had a deal. You agreed. You can't come around now and whine for a bigger payoff."

"You didn't give me much choice!" snarled the other man. "And now I'm the one with blood on my hands. I'm doing your dirty work, Crowley, and if something happens, I'm the one who gets the murder rap!"

"Considering your job, you should be used to having blood on your hands, Waring," came the heated retort. "You agreed to do it, and you know why."

"I can't be tried again – that would be double jeopardy."

"You can't be tried for mercy killing again, maybe," Crowley sneered. "but you sure could be tried for murder."

"Those people were terminally ill!" cried Waring. "They would have died soon in any event! I just – just—"

"Just helped them along the road a little, right? A little extra morphine here – a little less oxygen there…." Crowley's voice was vicious. "And you're going to keep on doing it, whenever I say you will. Or else I just might happen to let something slip…"

"You hired me!" gasped the other man. "You're in this just as deep as I am! You and your damned insurance policies!"

The sound abruptly faded out, and static filled the room. For a few moments, only the video portion of the film showed; then the static cleared, and voices could be heard once more.

"If it wasn't for those new medications," Crowley was saying bitterly. "we wouldn't have had to do it. People died, right when they were expected to, and the insurance paid up. Now, I can't count on anything for sure. They just keep on living."

"Very inconsiderate of them, I know," Waring gibed. "I'm sure they don't do it just to annoy you, Crowley."

"Shut up!" Crowley snapped. "Have you got those latest death certificates made out?"

"Yes, they're done." Waring sounded defeated. "Two more deaths from natural causes…heart failure."

Abruptly, the film image shifted, and the intent watchers could see cars and the Crowley Manufacturing buildings. Footsteps and panting, a jiggling, jerking visual display…and then the screen went black.

For a brief space of time, there was silence in the room, and then Joe spoke quietly.

"Well – I guess we found what we were looking for."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 9

"Now we know what Crowley's thugs were after," Frank said, speaking as quietly as Joe had. "And things just got a little more dangerous."

"We need to get this tape to the police," Mrs. Wright spoke up. "Right away."

"No, we need to copy that tape and then get it to the police," Joe amended the statement. "Vanessa, my lovely, do you happen to know anyone who has equipment for copying tapes like this?" He waited a beat, then when she didn't answer, turned and looked at her. "Van? You okay?"

His girlfriend was very pale. "That man on the tape—" she whispered.

"Crowley?"

"No…no, the other one."

"Someone named Waring," Frank said. "Sounded like he's a doctor. What about him, Vanessa?"

"He – he's been killing people? Terminally ill people?"

"That's what it sounds like," Joe said. "Van, what's wrong?" He slid off the couch to a seat beside her on the floor, and gripped her hands in his. "Tell me, babe."

"I – I – you know I volunteer at the hospital once a week."

Joe nodded encouragingly.

"I – Joe, I – I know Doctor Waring! I mean, I know who he is when I see him. He has patients in critical care…I don't work there, but I've seen him around. Maybe said hello a couple of times. And he's m-m-murdering people?" Tears spilled from Vanessa's blue-gray eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh boy," Joe murmured, and put a comforting arm about his distraught girlfriend. "That's kind of a shock, isn't it? As a general rule, you don't hang out with murderers too much… Hey, it's okay, Vanessa, don't flip out on me, here!" He shook her gently.

Joe's half-comforting, half-teasing words had their effect; Vanessa gulped and swiped her hands across her cheeks. "I'm sorry. It was just such a creepy feeling…"

"Believe me, I know how you feel," Mrs. Wright commented. "I never cared too much for Ted Crowley, but he was my husband's employer. We knew each other socially. And now I know he's a murderer too – or if he isn't actually doing the deed, he's hiring to have it done."

"I can make a copy of this easily," Vanessa indicated the tape with a wave of her hand. "I'll just need it overnight."

"And then a copy goes to the police," Mrs. Wright said firmly.

"But Mom," Megan spoke up. "This doesn't prove anything about Dad's death!"

Mrs. Wright looked very unhappy. "I know, honey. And after seeing this, I know you were right about his death not being an accident. But we can't prove it."

"If you give us a little time, we might be able to find some more evidence about that," Frank said quietly. "This Doctor Waring sounds like he's unhappy about the position he's in. Maybe we can find out something about him and put some pressure on."

"First things first." Joe got to his feet and pulled Vanessa up after him. "Let's get the tape to Vanessa's house and get it copied. Tomorrow we can decide what angles we can pursue to catch Dr. Death." He ejected the tape and handed it to his girlfriend.

Joe, Vanessa and Frank bid a hasty goodbye to Mrs. Wright, and Megan walked them to the front door. She hugged Vanessa, punched Joe lightly on the arm, and then turned to Frank as the other two headed for the Hardys' van.

"See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "I have a class at noon, but that's all." He wrinkled his nose. "Shakespeare's plays. Yuck. English credits."

Her eyes twinkled. "I like Shakespeare!" she teased. "But I have a ten o'clock, and an eleven. I'm done at noon. Want me to wait for you to get out of Shakespeare?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like it. Meet you at the student center at one, all right?"

She nodded, tiptoed to kiss his cheek, then laughed and gently pushed him out the door. Frank grinned at her, and jogged down the driveway to the waiting van.

When he got in, however, he found Vanessa and Joe in the middle of a discussion. A heated discussion. Rolling his eyes, Frank started the engine, backed out of the driveway, and headed towards the Hardy home, dividing his attention between the road and the argument.

"Joe, I will be perfectly safe driving home. Who would bother me? I drive out there every single day of my life – and a lot of nights! No one's ever—"

"Tonight you are carrying something very valuable; therefore you need to have some extra protection. Or you should just call your mom and tell her you're going to stay at our house tonight. We have a guest room!"

"I don't need to stay in your guest room. I have a very nice room at home, and I prefer to sleep there. And I want to get this tape copied right away. You don't need to escort me home, Joe, for pity's sake!" She flounced in her seat indignantly. "Quit treating me like a cream puff!"

"Baby, I know you're not a cream puff; but I'm worried about you!" Joe cajoled. "I don't want you in any danger. Frank, tell her she should stay at our house. Or else let me drive her home."

Frank was watching the rear-view mirror. A car was behind them, but it was keeping fairly far back, and he couldn't tell for sure if they were being followed or not. Frank swung off the main drag and opted to take some back streets to their home.

"Frank, don't you agree that I am perfectly capable of driving in my own car to my own house, and I don't need an over-protective, fussy, guardian—"

"Fussy! I am not fussy! There's a difference between being fussy and being concerned—"

Frank pulled into their driveway and turned off the engine.

"Joe—" he began.

"Tell her, Frank! Tell her it's not a good idea to—"

"I think—"

"…somebody could attack her, out on the highway—"

"Maybe—"

"She'd be much safer—"

"Joe—"

"You know I'm right, Vanessa—"

"JOE!" Frank bellowed, finally completely out of patience. There was a sudden silence in the van.

"Yes?" his brother asked meekly.

"You drive Vanessa's jeep. I'll follow you in the van, and bring you home. All right? Will that satisfy you? That way nobody's out on the highway alone. You'll be with her, then I'll be with you."

"It isn't necessary—" Vanessa began, then stopped. "But I appreciate it, guys. Thanks." She patted the pocket of her jacket where the precious tape rested. "I feel like I'm carrying the crown jewels around!"

She and Joe got into the Wrangler and Frank pulled the van behind them as Joe started down Elm Street. At this hour, traffic was nonexistent in their residential neighborhood, but as they headed towards Vanessa's home, they encountered more cars. Again watching his rear-view mirror, Frank noticed headlights that stayed with them, forming a three-car caravan. He kept tightly on Joe's rear bumper, not wanting to get separated from him, and kept his eye on the extra car.

As they neared the last light before the turnoff to Vanessa's road, a dark gray, battered-looking car pulled up in the lane beside the Wrangler, and Frank realized their tail was no longer behind him. He couldn't see into the car, and couldn't see the license plates from his position behind Joe. The light was still green as Joe entered the intersection, but it turned yellow when he was halfway across. Three years of defensive driving habits kicked in automatically, and Frank slowed the van. The dark gray car, however, accelerated, swerving into Frank's lane and forcing him to slam on the brakes; then the car barreled through the intersection right behind Joe. The light turned to red; cars from the other direction started across, and Frank was left at the light, furious and chagrined, watching two sets of taillights disappearing into the night.

As soon as the light changed again, he punched the accelerator toward the floor, leaving a strip of rubber across the intersection, and sped after his brother and the other car. He saw taillights in the distance, and increased his speed, hoping to catch up with them before the dark, lonely stretch of road just before Vanessa's home.

Just after the underpass, there was a sharp turn leading into a stretch that wound between fields. As Frank rounded the turn, he saw a sight that turned his blood cold: the gray car was right on Joe's back bumper – and then it accelerated, nudging the little Wrangler. Frank punched the gas pedal down, but despite Joe's tinkering with the van's engine, he couldn't catch the other two cars. The gray car banged the Wrangler once again, and then as Joe swerved to avoid the attack, his wheels hit gravel at the edge of the road. The little jeep jerked, slid, and tilted sideways.

Frank watched in horror as the Wrangler skidded on two wheels a moment, then completed its turn, rolling off the road and into the field. Its headlights cut a bright arc into the night sky as it flipped upside down. The gray car roared away, its deadly mission accomplished.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Many thanks to those who have posted feedback on this story. You make it worth the writing!

 **September Song**

EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 10

 _Oh God oh God oh God…_ Frank slued the van onto the shoulder of the highway, bringing it to a shuddering halt. _God no… please, God, no…_ Some rational part in the back of his mind told him that he needed light, and he jerked the steering wheel violently, turning the van sideways to the road so that his headlights bathed the field in glaring brightness.

Incredible as it seemed, the Wrangler was upright on its wheels; apparently it had somersaulted completely over. _Thank God for roll bars!_ Frank switched off his engine and grabbed the large flashlight from the door pocket, then leaped from the van and scrambled down across the ditch and into the field, fighting his way through knee-high grass and berry brambles to get to the jeep.

"Joe! Vanessa!" he yelled, hoping against hope for some response. He struggled through the tangled grass, and ran up to the little vehicle. "Joe!"

"Frank?" It was Vanessa's voice, frightened, but strong.

"Vanessa!" Frank ran to the passenger side of the jeep and yanked the door open. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I – I think I'm okay…banged around a little…" She reached for her seat belt buckle with trembling hands. "Scared…"

Frank caught her shoulders to hold her still. "Take it slow, hon. Don't try to move around too quickly. Make sure you're okay."

"I think I'm all right. But Joe—" She turned toward the driver's seat. "Joe? Joe?"

Frank handed Vanessa the flashlight and moved hastily around the front of the car to get to his brother's side. "Joe? Little brother? Joe, can you hear me?"

Joe was slumped forward, over the steering wheel. He didn't respond at first to Frank's urgent questions; but as Frank opened the driver's door, he stirred and groaned.

"Ohhhhh… Van – Vanessa?…."

"Easy, Joe. Take it easy."

"Vanessa…the car…" Joe attempted to lift his head, but dropped it back down. "Ohhhhh…"

Very cautiously, Frank took hold of Joe's chin and gently tilted his head back. He felt a warm slickness on his fingers as he did so. _Uh oh – he's bleeding somewhere…_ "Joe, can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," Joe squinted through barely-opened eyes. "Ow, my head!" He let Frank ease him back against the headrest, and his eyes fluttered closed again.

"Van, give me some more light, please."

In the glow of the flashlight beam, Frank could see Joe's face was streaked with blood dripping in a slow stream from a cut on his forehead. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the laceration for a moment, then removed it to see how serious the injury was. To his immense relief, he saw the cut was only about half an inch long. He pressed the handkerchief back down firmly.

"Ouch." Joe's voice was stronger now.

"Take it easy," Frank repeated soothingly. He could see Joe also had a lump forming on his temple; apparently he had hit both the steering wheel and the side window during their abrupt flight and landing. Briefly, he wished the airbags had deployed, but decided that would have harmed Joe more than just smacking into the window. Apparently the summersault hadn't triggered them.

Joe finally opened his eyes fully, wincing away from the bright light. "Vanessa…"

"I'm all right, Joe." She leaned closer. "I'm not hurt. Just bruised a little, maybe, and scared."

"Told you…dangerous…" Joe's voice trailed off and his eyes wandered a bit, finally focusing on his brother's face hovering close beside him. "Frank…?"

"It's me, kiddo. Can you see okay? Double vision, or anything?"

"Little…bit…killer headache…"

"Vanessa, will you hold this while I get the first aid kit from the van?" Frank indicated the makeshift bandage he was applying to Joe's forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Sure." She pressed her fingers over his, and the transition was easily made. He hurried through the grass and brambles, secured the first aid kit and returned to the jeep.

"I'm okay…" Joe was muttering. "I'm fine…." He struggled to sit erect, reaching to unsnap his seat belt.

"Hey, hey, hold on," Frank chided, restraining him gently. "I didn't take all those advanced first aid classes just so I could carry a pretty card in my wallet. Just stay still a minute, okay?" He carefully raised the handkerchief and inspected Joe's wound. "I think you'll probably live." He opened the kit and took out a couple of butterfly bandages. "Hang on, I'll get that bleeding stopped in a sec…" Carefully, he applied first one, then the other suture bandage to the cut, patted the area with his handkerchief to remove the remaining blood, and looked again. "That's better."

Joe focused on him again. "Told you…dangerous…" he murmured again.

"Frank, he doesn't sound very coherent," Vanessa whispered.

Joe turned his head slightly. "I'm okay. Just…dizzy."

"He should probably go to the hospital," Frank admitted. But Joe shook his head, wincing at the pain it caused him.

"Uh-uh. No hospital. I'm fine. Stop fussing."

"Do you think you can walk to the van, Joe?" Frank asked him. "You can't drive the Wrangler out of the field. You can't drive at all. Vanessa, could you get it out, you think?"

Vanessa surveyed the ground surrounding her car. "Probably. But I'd rather do it in daylight – and without Joe in the car with a head injury." She got out and walked around to the back. "Damn it, that guy dented it!" She kicked angrily at one of the tires. "He dented my pretty Wrangler!" Her voice shook with fury, and she began to choke up. "He dented…my…"

"Vanessa – don't cry!" Joe struggled against Frank's restraining hand, trying to reach his girlfriend. "We'll get him! Ouch!" He sank back again, lifting a hand to his head.

"Settle down, brat," Frank commanded. "Yes, we'll get him. Later. Right now, we need to get you to the van, get Vanessa to her house, and then get us back home." He slid an arm behind Joe's shoulders. "Want to try standing up?"

"Yeah." Joe slowly swiveled his legs out the door, felt for the ground with his feet and shakily pushed himself to a standing position. He leaned against his older brother. "Everything's tilting…"

"Hang on." Frank pulled Joe's arm across his shoulder and looped his arm about Joe's waist. "Vanessa, grab whatever you need and let's get out of here."

She quickly picked up her purse, turned off the headlights, took the key from the ignition. Patted her pocket to make sure the tape was still there. "I'm ready." She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and moved to Joe's other side. "Come on, Joe, we've got you. Just move your feet occasionally." She slid her arm around Joe, criss-crossing with Frank. The three of them moved across the field slowly. Joe leaned heavily upon his supports at first, but walked more and more steadily as they progressed towards the road. By the time they reached the van, he was insisting he was fine, and attempting to walk unaided to prove it.

Frank slid open the side door, and he and Vanessa eased Joe onto the seat. "Stretch out flat," he advised his brother. "We're going to ignore the seat belt laws just this once; we've only got a little way to go to Vanessa's." Joe nodded silently, lay back and put his arm across his eyes.

Vanessa climbed into the front passenger seat, and Frank resumed his place behind the wheel. Starting the engine, he carefully steered the van back onto the highway, creeping along at a slow rate of speed, endeavoring not to jar Joe more than necessary.

Lights still blazed from the Benders' farmhouse, and Vanessa sighed.

"Uh-oh. It looks like Mom's still up. This will take some explaining."

"She's going to have a fit," muttered Joe from the back seat.

"Why?" Frank inquired. "It wasn't any of it our fault. Vanessa's not hurt, and the jeep's pretty much okay. And Andrea's sort of like Mom – she's getting used to occasional mayhem in her life!"

Vanessa laughed ruefully. "I think she still wishes I'd find someone a little safer to date."

They got out of the van; Joe still somewhat shaky. Frank took his arm to steady him as they went into the house through the back door.

"Mom?"

"Hi, guys." Andrea Bender, a slightly shorter version of her blonde daughter, walked into the kitchen to greet them, but the welcoming smile on her face faded as she took in their appearance. "What in the world? What's happened to Joe? Vanessa, are you okay, honey? What happened?"

"Some creep ran the jeep off the road, back there by the fields," Vanessa explained briefly. "I'm fine, Mom, but Joe's hurt. And – and the Wrangler's dented a little. And – um – it's still in the field."

"Frank, bring Joe in here so he can lie down on the couch." Andrea beckoned the Hardys toward the living room. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No," Joe answered quickly. "I'm fine, Andrea; it's just a bump on the head and a little cut. Frank patched it up already." He winced as Frank eased him onto the long sofa. "But I'd appreciate some ice—"

"I'm on it!" Vanessa called from the kitchen. "Be right there!" There came the sound of ice cubes being rattled in their bin.

"—and maybe some aspirin," Joe finished, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I think there's a little imp pounding messages on a log, inside my head."

"Why would someone have run you off the road?" Andrea wondered aloud. She glanced from one boy to the other. "You two on another case? If so, I'd rather you left Vanessa out of it, if it's going to put her in danger like this!"

"Forget it, Mom, I'm already involved," Vanessa announced. She bent over the couch and placed an ice pack on Joe's forehead. "There babe, that should help." She pulled the precious tape from her jacket pocket and held it up for Andrea to see. "This is something you absolutely will not believe, Mom. And I need to make a copy of it, right away." She headed toward the entertainment center against the wall and began touching buttons.

Andrea's lips twitched. "Sounds like I've been overruled, and right here in my own living room!" she murmured. "I'll get you that aspirin, Joe."

Frank watched Vanessa do her set-up and start the copying process. She didn't turn on the television to monitor it, merely made sure the original was rewound before she started. "I don't want to watch it again; at least not right now," she admitted to the boys. Joe chuckled a little, then muttered "ouch," and subsided into silence again. Andrea returned to the room with a glass of water and a couple of Excedrin, which she handed to the younger Hardy. Joe thanked her, gulped the capsules and lay down again, carefully adjusting his ice pack.

"We don't need to stick around, really," Frank said, as both Andrea and Vanessa sat down. "Joe needs to get home to rest. But we did want to explain about the jeep."

"It's not badly damaged?" Andrea asked, and all three teens were quick to assure her that the damage was minimal. "And Vanessa, you think you can get it out without a tow truck?" Again, an affirmative response from her daughter. "Well, since it wasn't your fault, nobody's seriously hurt, and we can get it back okay, I don't see that you're any of you in trouble. At least not with me!"

Frank heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Andrea. I was hoping you'd understand." He patted Joe's foot. "Hey, little brother, you up to another ride?"

"Yeah." Joe slowly sat up, still holding the ice against his forehead. "Let's get moving. Thanks again for the aspirin," he added to Mrs. Bender. "Van, see you tomorrow." He got to his feet, and Frank took his arm once again. Vanessa and her mother followed them to the door, and watched as the boys got in the van, Frank started the motor, and they pulled out onto the highway, heading for Bayport once again.

By the time the boys reached their home, it was past eleven o'clock; they knew their mother had probably gone to bed. Both felt this was fortunate; Laura might be, as Frank said, "used to occasional mayhem," but she didn't need to see Joe's condition tonight. However, Frank reminded his brother that she _would_ need to see it the next day.

"You shouldn't do football practice tomorrow, and you'll need a written excuse from Mom. Let's just hope that swelling goes down overnight."

They slipped inside, switching off the kitchen light left on for their benefit, and went quietly upstairs. Once in their rooms, with the doors to the connecting bathroom open but the ones to the hallway shut, they could talk freely once more.

"Joe, I gambled, not taking you to the emergency room." Frank spoke around a mouthful of toothbrush. "So for Pete's sake, if you start feeling bad, tell me, right away. Okay?

"Okay, okay." Joe had already brushed his teeth, and was stretched out on his bed, the ice pack Vanessa had given him resting on his forehead. "But all I really need is some sleep. I'd be okay for football practice tomorrow."

"Don't push it," his brother advised. "Admit it, sometimes it's sort of nice to have a ready-made excuse to get out of drills."

Joe removed the ice pack and stacked his pillows so that he was half-sitting. "What do you think we should do about that tape? Once we contact the police about it, it's taken out of our hands. You know what'll happen; it's 'back off and let the police handle it' time again."

"I know," Frank conceded. He leaned against the door frame, toothbrush in hand. "I think maybe we'll mail that tape to the police department, marked for Con's attention. That might give us a couple of days to find out just where Megan's dad fit into all this."

"We know where he fit in!" Joe exclaimed, sitting upright, which he immediately regretted. "Ow!…shoot…" He lay back gingerly, then continued. "He filmed Crowley and Waring talking – looked like they all were in the parking lot at the manufacturing site. They must have spotted him; that's why the recording ends so suddenly."

"But he obviously escaped them for a while," Frank reasoned, sitting down on the edge of Joe's bed. "Otherwise the tape wouldn't have been in the Wright's family room, with the deceptive label.

"I keep thinking I've heard of this Dr. Waring somewhere before," Frank continued, frowning in concentration. "I just can't put my finger on it…something I read, somewhere…"

Joe yawned, and his eyes drifted shut for a moment. "Maybe you'll think of it during the night," he murmured. "Tomorrow you can look him up on the computer. If you read about him, it probably was in the newspaper."

"That's it!" Frank reached to give his brother's leg a congratulatory slap, but pulled back just in time, remembering Joe's condition. "It was a newspaper article. Quite a while ago, too – several years."

"Why were you reading newspaper articles about weird doctors when you were fourteen?" Joe yawned again. "Can't we get some sleep?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. You're right." Frank stood up. "Better get in bed, little bro, you don't want to sleep on top of the covers in your clothes, do you?"

"No, not especially." Joe slowly rose to his feet and began undressing. "but I may be asleep standing up, in a minute." He peeled off his bloodstained polo shirt, then wriggled out of his jeans. A few moments later he was sliding beneath the blankets, eyes already closing in sleep.

#########

Morning found both boys wishing they'd had a few more hours' rest. The bump on Joe's temple had not subsided much, and had turned purple to boot, but his headache had subsided, and he could function normally. Frank rose the same time Joe did, even though he didn't have to be at school until noon. He wanted time to research Dr. Waring on his computer.

"Morning, Mom," Frank said as he and Joe entered the Hardy kitchen. Laura looked up from the table where she was reading the morning newspaper.

"Good morning, honey. Joe, you're going to have to hurry; you're running a little bit—" Laura broke off as she got a good look at her younger son. "Joseph Hardy, what in the world happened to you?"

"Just a little accident with Vanessa's jeep," Joe mumbled, hastily sliding into his chair and reaching for the box of Cheerios on the table. "No big deal."

"Is Vanessa all right – and the jeep?" Mrs. Hardy asked with concern.

Joe nodded, drank half his orange juice in two gulps, and replied, "She's better off than I am. But could you write me an excuse from football practice for today, Mom? Frank—" with a disgusted glance at his brother – "Frank thinks I shouldn't practice today."

"He probably has a point," Laura said dryly, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. "He does occasionally, you know."

Joe quickly ate his breakfast, pocketed his note, and prepared to leave. He automatically reached for his set of car keys, then hesitated. "It's your turn for the van today, isn't it?"

"Oh, go ahead; I'll ride again today," Frank replied, waving a dismissive hand. "If it was raining, I'd hold you to it, but it's okay. You'll be better off driving anyway; the helmet would probably make your head ache."

"Thanks!" Joe grinned his appreciation, grabbed his backpack, and was out the back door. Frank finished his breakfast, stacked his dishes on the counter, and told his mother he was going back upstairs to do some computer research.

"…and Mom – if I get involved, could you yell at me when it's 11:30, so I don't miss my class?"

"Assuming I'm here and watching the clock, of course I will," his mother answered. "If I go out, I'll tell you, so that you can keep an eye on it yourself."

Frank hurried to his room, turned on the computer, and set to work, instigating a search for articles about a doctor named Waring. _Waring…Waring…Bayport General Hospital…_. At three years and five months back, he hit pay dirt.

 _Bayport General…Dr. Gerald Waring…Bingo!_ Frank leaned closer to the screen, studying the words intently. _Accused of questionable medical practices…indications of "mercy killings" of terminally ill patients…_.

The articles continued for several days, then spread further apart. The physician had been put on leave from the hospital, pending outcome of the investigation…then, two months after the first accusations had been filed, the case came to trial. Frank eagerly read on, following the proceedings through the reporters' eyes.

 _After all the witness were called and the evidence was in…jury deliberated for half a day…verdict of not guilty! Inconclusive evidence…reluctance of witnesses to testify…_

"Acquitted for lack of evidence – and reluctance of witnesses to testify against him," Frank murmured. "And then what happened…?" He clicked on the next set of articles. _Dr. Waring…reinstated as practicing physician at Bayport General Hospital…_

 _That seems odd,_ Frank mused. _Hospitals usually aren't too eager to associate themselves with someone in Dr. Waring's situation. Even an acquittal leaves a lot of things open to question._

Still pondering, he printed out the articles, then put them with his school books. He would show them to Megan later in the day.

At 11:30 he clattered down the stairs, gave Laura a hasty goodbye kiss, and climbed aboard his motorcycle once again, after stowing his books in the saddlebags. He pulled on his helmet, started the motor, and was down the driveway and out into the street with a swooping flourish, heading for Bayport Community College and his class on Shakespeare's plays.

##########

At 12:55 the buzzer sounded, ending the class for another day. Frank collected his notes, his head full of Elizabethan phrases, and reminded himself that he needed to read and review the second act of _Henry IV_ before Thursday. Mental reminder duly noted, he promptly put Shakespeare and his dramatic works out of his mind, and switched gears to the problem of Dr. Gerald Waring and his medical ethics.

Frank hurried down the sidewalk towards the student center, eager to meet Megan for lunch. He spotted her waiting just outside the entrance, and waved. She returned the wave, and walked toward him, smiling.

"Hi," she said demurely, as they met. Frank reached for her hand and pulled her close to his side.

"Hey, long time no see." _That_ _was a brilliant remark, Hardy! Why can't you say anything halfway intelligent to this girl?_

"How was Shakespeare?" Megan inquired, as they went into the crowded building, joining the lines snaking into the food courts.

"I'm glad I didn't live back then; too tough to talk!" Frank grimaced. "Too many 'wilt thous' and 'doths' for my taste. But the story is actually pretty interesting – at least, I think it is…if I understand it right."

"I actually like the comedies best," Megan admitted as she selected a salad. "And I expect almost every girl in the world loves _Romeo and Juliet_. But the histories are okay too."

They continued chatting about their classes as they got their lunches, then took them outside once again, to eat in the soft September sunshine.

"Do you know if Vanessa got the tape copied?" Megan changed the subject, as they sat down.

Frank gulped. He suddenly remembered that Megan didn't have any idea about the incidents of the previous night.

"I think so. Megan, listen, I need to tell you something. But don't freak on me, okay?"

Aqua eyes widened. "Freak on you? Why? What happened?" Megan demanded. "Frank Hardy, what haven't you told me?"

Frank recounted their encounter with the battered gray car, while Megan listened intently, her chin propped on her doubled fists, and her long-lashed eyes glued to his face. When he finished, emphasizing the facts that neither Joe nor Vanessa was seriously hurt, and the Wrangler only slightly dented, she sat back, scowling.

"Frank, this is awful," she said somberly. "I've put you all in danger."

"Uh-uh!" he denied, shaking his head vigorously. "We've been around the block before, so to speak. This wasn't the first time we've been tailed, or run off the road, and it probably won't be the last." He paused, thinking. "There's no way anyone could have known Vanessa had that tape. It was just plain bad luck that it was her car—" he broke off, grinning a little. "She was right – she probably would have been completely safe, driving home alone; it was because Joe was with her that they were attacked!"

"Crowley probably thinks the tape is in our house," Megan mused. She shivered a little. "Creepy…that probably means we'll get broken into some time soon."

"You might call the police department, and ask for a step-up in patrols around your neighborhood," Frank suggested. "It might make Crowley's little helpers think twice before burgling your house again."

"So what happens now?" she asked practically. "You're going to give a copy of the tape to the police, right?"

"Would you mind if we mailed it? They'll get it in a day or two, but that would give Joe and me a little time to work on the case. Once the police have that tape, we'll be ordered off."

"My mom would probably disagree, but I don't have any problem with it," Megan replied. "That tape will put Crowley behind bars, all right, unless he has a pretty slick lawyer – but I want to know who murdered my father. You're my best bet for that."

 _That's all I am? Just the way to catch and convict her father's murderer? Give it up, Hardy; you're just the means to an end, for her…_

Frank reached for his backpack. "I have something to show you," he said, taking out the printed newspaper articles. "The bloody-handed Doctor Waring's euthanasia trial. It was almost four years ago." He spread the papers out on the table, and he and Megan bent their heads over them. "See – he was tried, but the jury found him innocent. Lack of evidence, lack of reliable witnesses…"

"But – assuming he actually performed those 'mercy killings,' that puts Waring in a very vulnerable position," Megan said thoughtfully. "Always under suspicion, if anything looks amiss." She re-read the last article, scowling down at the words. "Frank, why would the hospital reinstate him after all this? Surely he wasn't such a great doctor that they wanted him back regardless of the charges against him – even if he wasn't convicted!"

"I thought it was funny, too. But there's no understanding the minds of a hospital administration. Maybe he knew someone's closet skeleton, or something."

Megan gazed soberly into the brown eyes across the table. "Frank, is there anything we can do to get more evidence on Ted Crowley? Anything that will tie him to my father's death?"

"I think—" Frank spoke slowly, hesitating. "I think maybe a little computer hacking may be in order. If Vanessa and I work on it, we just might be able to get into Crowley Manufacturing's computers. If we can get in there, we just may be able to access Crowley's personal files – with luck. With more luck, there may be a record of payoffs to our dear Doctor Waring. And who knows what else we might find?"

"That's a lot of 'ifs' and 'just mays' and 'with lucks'," Megan commented bitterly. Seeing Frank's face fall, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. "I'm sorry, Frank; I know you are doing your best. I'm too impatient."

"You have a right to be impatient. You asked us to do an investigation for you, and so far we haven't come up with much of anything. All we've managed to do is put both you and your mother – and Vanessa! – into danger." Frank's mouth set in a grim line. "And I don't like that at all."

"We were in danger before I ever met you," Megan reminded him gently. "And we were unaware of it – and wouldn't have known why we were in danger if we had been aware. We're better off knowing."

"I wish I could zap you to a distant island, where you'd be safe." Frank was smiling a little now, and he turned his hand over to enfold her fingers in his. "Safe – and happy."

The raucous sound of the school buzzer suddenly echoed through the air, reminding students of impending classes. Both Megan and Frank jumped involuntarily, then laughed – but the tender mood was broken. Frank began gathering up the sheets of paper from the table, and Megan quickly picked up her fork and resumed eating her salad.

Just as Frank finished stowing the articles in his backpack, a musical chiming sound came from one of its pockets. Megan cocked her head inquiringly, then smiled as Frank pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

"Hello?….Oh hi, Joe – s'up?" Frank listened, nodding. "You've got it? Good…Yeah, can you get an envelope at the school office, or something?…I know it's not a post office, but…hey, you don't have football practice, can't you take it to the post office and mail it from there?…Uh huh, just send it to Con's attention. Oh, and put a note with it, that says it's from us. Otherwise who knows what might happen to it….whaddya mean, I owe you one?…just remember who did the first aid last night, huh? Okay, bro – thanks! Catch you later."

Frank flipped the cover shut and grinned at Megan. "Vanessa has delivered the tape and its copy to Joe. He's going to mail it to—"

"I heard," she said dryly. "To 'Con's attention.' Whoever Con is."

"Sergeant Con Riley," Frank explained. "He's a good guy – probably our best friend on the police force."

"Which gives you another day or two."

Frank's smile faded. "We're back to that again. I wish we were moving faster on this, Megan, really. I feel like we're running in molasses."

"No – no! I'm sorry. This is crazy – I ask for your help and then crab all the time about the job you're doing!"

Frank pulled his phone out again, and punched a single digit. "Joe? Hey, can you ask Vanessa if she's busy after school today?…She's right there?…Yeah, I'll hold on….Vanessa, hi….do you have some free time after school? Yeah – I need some help…well, it has something to do with hacking into some computer files…"


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 11

At 3:30 that afternoon, Frank, Vanessa and Megan were gathered in Vanessa's room, in front of her impressive display of computer equipment. Vanessa booted up, then switched places with Frank. He typed in the web address for Crowley Manufacturing, and they began their project.

After some unsuccessful attempts Frank conceded defeat, stood, and waved Vanessa to his chair. "Madam, I bow to your expertise. Have at it!"

She chuckled, shoved her long hair back, and settled in.

##########

Half an hour later, Vanessa was still trying access codes, passwords and various hacking tricks. Frank hovered over her shoulder, offering occasional advice, but mostly letting her do it on her own. Megan had watched closely for a while, but was growing more and more discouraged as time passed and access was denied again and again. She now was staring out the window at the Benders' yard, watching leaves drift toward the ground from the yellowing maple trees.

The sound of a car alerted her, and she watched Joe arrive. He got out of the van, approached the front door, and was admitted. In a moment, she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Try – yeah, try that…" Frank was murmuring softly. "maybe…nope, damn it! How about this…?" He reached over Vanessa's shoulder and tapped some keys. "Aagghh."

Megan leaned her head against the windowpane and shut her eyes despondently.

"Hey, guys!" Joe announced his arrival at the bedroom door. "How's it going?" He glanced from one person to the other. "Oh." He entered quietly, and sat down on the bed.

"What about this…" Now it was Vanessa speaking. "…whoever designed this has a twisted, devious little mind…so…Aha!"

"Yes!" Frank whooped with delight, hugging Vanessa's shoulders, then turned around. "Megan! Look! She got in!" He leaped across the room and seized Megan's arm, whirling her towards him, and enveloping her in a hug. "Joe! Hey, hi, didn't see you come in! She got in!" He grinned in triumph.

"Oh, that's so wonderful! Vanessa, you're incredible!" Megan gasped, nearly squeezed breathless by the elder Hardy's embrace.

"I hate to admit it," Frank grinned. "but she really is much better than I am at this sort of thing. It's a good thing you don't have any criminal tendencies, Vanessa!"

Vanessa was rapidly delving deeper and deeper into Ted Crowley's computer files now, and hitting "print" for page after page. She chuckled at Frank's gibe, and turned in her chair to share a hug with Megan.

"This is just the first step, though," she reminded her jubilant companions. "Now we have to find the information we want, that will incriminate our Mr. Crowley in some murders."

The four of them began poring over the sheets of paper, checking the lines of print with as much attention to detail as they could muster. Megan sat on the floor, pages in her lap. Frank and Joe sprawled across opposite ends of the bed, and Vanessa sat before the computer, still tapping an occasional key to keep the flow of information coming.

"Look at this," Megan finally said, holding up a sheet of figures. "A payment to Dr. Gerald Waring, dated over a year ago."

"I have one on this page, too," Joe replied. "And – yup, here's another. Looks like he gets paid about once every two months…and note the memo line – _services rendered_!"

Vanessa shuddered. "That is so cold. It sounds like a – a – carpet-cleaning service, or something."

"Have you noticed," Frank commented quietly, "that there are large deposits that don't correspond with any payments to Dr. Waring? And they're noted as insurance payoffs. So obviously Mr. Crowley's scheme worked the way he'd intended, part of the time. People died, the insurance policies paid the benefits, and he got the money."

"Frank…" Megan's voice was so small it was almost nonexistent. "there's a payment right after my father's death…" She handed the incriminating document to him, her hands shaking so hard the paper rattled. Frank glanced down at the indicated date, then reached for her hand, pulling her to sit beside him on the bed.

"Megan…" he began, helplessly. She ducked her head, waving his sympathy away with one hand while she dashed tears from her eyes with the other.

"I'm all right," she said.

"Vanessa, have you got the latest dates there?" Joe asked, craning his neck to see the computer screen.

"Yes – as of last week," she answered. "No deposits or payments to Waring. Just regular business-as-usual."

"And the last time there was one?" Joe continued, scanning the sheets of paper scattered across the bed.

"Ummm, about six weeks ago."

"Then I'd predict that Crowley Manufacturing is ripe for another insurance policy payment…which means another untimely death at Bayport General," Joe said grimly.

Vanessa glanced at Joe, then Frank and Megan. "I think I'm going to become Dr. Gerald Waring's new best friend tomorrow," she announced. "He's just acquired his own private errand-runner."

"Are you crazy?" Joe exploded, leaping off the bed. "You are not going to traipse around the hospital with a known murderer!"

"Want to bet?" she shot back. "I work there, and can make up all kinds of reasons for being in various places. I didn't say I was going to hang on his coat tails, but he's not going to do anything that I don't know about."

"Vanessa—" Frank began, hoping to try and talk her out of such a mad scheme, "it really isn't a good idea for you to be too close to him—"

She stuck her nose in the air and ostentatiously ignored both Hardys, concentrating on tapping the computer keys to save the entry code words and exit out of the system. Frank glanced at Megan, hoping for some backup, but she was studying Vanessa with something akin to envy.

"I wish I could go with you and help," she said quietly. Vanessa glanced over at her and smiled in a conspiratorial fashion.

"I wish you could, too. But unfortunately, you're not familiar with the place, and I am. This one is mine, guys, so don't try to argue with me or talk me out of it." She gave Joe a long straight look, and as she saw the anguished worry on his face, her eyes softened. "Joe, I promise I won't do anything stupid. I'm not exactly going to walk up to him and say 'I know you've been murdering people,' now am I? I'm just going to keep a very close eye on him. If he makes clandestine phone calls, I'll be around to notice. If he goes into the rooms of terminal patients, I'll be around. If someone dies suddenly and he's been there – I'll notice that, too."

"I thought you didn't work the critical care floor," Frank commented.

"I don't – not usually. But I can invent a whole lot of errands, real quickly."

"I wish you wouldn't do this," Joe whispered miserably. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands.

Shortly afterward Frank, Joe and Megan took their leave. They stayed in a tight convoy, Frank leading the way on his cycle, followed by Megan's car, then Joe in the van, until Megan's turn-off was reached. Frank swung the cycle out of traffic, waved as she passed him, then pulled in again, directly in front of Joe.

When they reached home, both boys were silent and thoughtful. Joe was worried about Vanessa's plan to keep tabs on Dr. Waring; Frank was intent on finding a provable connection between Waring, Crowley, and Darryl Wright's death. They went into the house, to find places set at the kitchen table and a note from their mother on the counter.

 _Dear Frank & Joe,_

 _I have a meeting to go to tonight, and since you are not home yet, I have left dinner in the oven for you. Please clean the dishes up when you are finished._

 _Love,_ _Mom_

"You want milk?" Joe was already reaching into the refrigerator. He got out milk and a bowl of tossed salad.

"Please." Frank picked up a couple of pot holders, and carefully removed what appeared to be a chicken-noodle casserole from the oven, then set it on a trivet on the table. The boys washed up, then sat down to eat. Both were still very quiet.

"You have any trouble getting out of football practice?" Frank finally broke the silence.

"Mmm-mmm." Joe shook his head, took a quick drink of milk, then continued. "Coach took one look at my forehead and told me not to practice tomorrow, either. He said Thursday would be soon enough."

"That's good. You take another crack on the head right away – helmet or no helmet – and you're just asking for trouble. Bruising of the brain…fracture…post-concussion syndrome…"

"Okay, okay, I get the point!" Joe couldn't help laughing a little, even as he protested. "Man, you sure are gloom-and-doom tonight, big brother!"

"It's just that we don't seem to be getting anywhere with this case," Frank replied. "We know what happened. We know who was involved. We are pretty sure they're going to do it again. And we can't prove anything!" He sighed, pushed back his chair and got up to put his plate and silverware in the dishwasher. "I have studying to do – gotta read _Henry IV_."

Joe duplicated his brother's actions. "And you may not believe it, but I have an essay to write for English. Hmmm, maybe I'll write about gloomy older brothers, and how wearing they can be to have around — sort of like having Hamlet living in the house…" He dodged Frank's half-hearted slap, laughing.

##########

The next morning both Frank and Joe left early. This time Joe took his motorcycle, and Frank drove the van, although not without a keen glance or two at his brother's face, making sure Joe was feeling well enough to take the more jarring ride. But Joe waved him off reassuringly, and Frank was forced to concede he looked fine.

Megan met him for their shared classes, and they ate lunch together. For once, they didn't talk much about Gerald Waring or Ted Crowley. Frank did relate some stories from his and Joe's past cases, reminiscing with both pleasure and distaste. Megan listened wide-eyed, chin resting on her fists, in fascinated absorption. When he finally declined to repeat any more case stories, she told him a little about Lakeridge Academy and her years there. They went to the library for an hour of shared study, working through the assignment for their Criminal Justice class, and then went to the actual class, hand in hand.

When the final buzzer rang, Frank started to head for the parking lots, but Megan turned toward the library again.

"I have to do some more homework," she explained. "I have chemistry to work on, and I'd rather do it here than at home."

Frank frowned. "I don't like you being here by yourself," he said soberly.

"I'll be fine in the library, and I'll go right to my car afterwards," she assured him. "Frank, you can't put me in a glass bowl and keep me there, you know."

"I could stay too—" he offered.

She shook her head, and her aqua eyes sparkled with mischief. "Not that I wouldn't appreciate the help; you have to be better at chemistry than I am. But if you stay, we wouldn't either of us get any studying done," she teased. "I've heard the stories about what goes on in those study carrels."

Frank blushed. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry. I'll try and stay with a group of people when I'm outside the library building, okay? I'll be really careful going to the parking lot, and all that. Frank, you're treating me the way you said Joe was treating Vanessa the other night. She didn't like it, and neither do I."

He looked down at her, frustrated. "Megan, if anything happened to you – and you know Crowley or someone could be watching you—"

"I know." Her voice was even softer than usual. "But I won't take any chances, I promise." She tiptoed and pulled his face down to hers; kissed the corner of his mouth lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow at lunch. Good night."

Frank departed, unhappy but unable to do anything about the situation. He could only hope that Megan would remain safe.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 12

When Frank arrived at the Hardy home late that afternoon, he found his mother making a fruit salad in the kitchen, and Joe pacing and talking on the cordless phone in the front hall. Frank listened long enough to surmise that Joe was chatting with Vanessa, which relieved him considerably. He too had worried over Vanessa's scheme to stick close to Dr. Waring. If she was talking with Joe on the phone, she probably wasn't prowling around the hospital in the doctor's wake.

The Hardys ate dinner, the boys helped clean up the kitchen, then both Frank and Joe flopped onto the couch in the family room, in front of the television. Neither one, however, paid much attention to the program airing, for Joe was busy complaining to his brother about the headstrong actions of his girlfriend.

"Frank, she went there straight after school was out. She's got her cell phone with her, and she promised to check in every hour or so, but she's doing just what she said she was going to. She made sure Waring was on duty tonight, and she's shadowing him. Says he's on tomorrow night, too, and she's going to do the same thing!" Joe blew out a sigh of total frustration. "As if he might not be doing all his acts of mercy during the day, when she's at school!"

"I hope you didn't mention that, or she'll cut school tomorrow to follow him around then, too," Frank said. "I think we're stuck with two independent and determined females to work with. Megan stayed on campus, and went to the library after classes today. Even though she knew it might put her in danger…."

The telephone shrilled through his words. "That's probably Vanessa," Joe said, and punched the button to connect. "Hardy residence…no, this is Joe – oh, hi Mrs. Wright… Yes, Frank's right here, I'll put him on." He handed the phone to Frank, mouthing _Megan's mother_ as he did so.

"Hello, Mrs. Wright, this is Frank." The elder Hardy listened for a moment, and the watching Joe saw him turn pale. "No, Megan's not here – I haven't seen her since about four o'clock. She said she was going to do some work at the library…she thought she'd be done in an hour or so, I think… No – no, maybe she just lost track of time—" He glanced at his watch and knew that was an impossibility. "Mrs. Wright, I think I'll run over to the campus and see if I can find her. Maybe she's had car trouble, or something…I'll call you from there, all right? Okay – bye."

He clicked off the phone, already heading for the front door. Joe was right at his heels.

"Megan didn't come home from school," Frank told him tersely. "I've got to get over there right now. You coming?"

"Of course I am – you even need to ask? Go start the van; I'll tell Mom."

Once on the street, Frank pushed the speed limit at every opportunity, and ran more red and amber lights than he ever had before. In something less than the usual fifteen minutes, he took the familiar turn into the college's parking lot, heading for the spot where he had last seen Megan Wright.

There were evening classes held at the community college, and the lots were still fairly full. Frank drove slowly between the rows of cars, looking for the little Honda Accord. Finally he pulled up next to it, and he and Joe jumped out of the van.

"Frank!" Joe bent over and picked up something from the concrete. "Look!" He held out a book – the textbook from Megan's chemistry class. Frank circled the car, dark eyes scanning the ground, the car's interior, the windows….

 _There!_ Frank leaned across the hood and snatched the folded piece of paper nestled underneath the wiper blade. Joe huddled close, and flicked on his penlight.

Words printed in block lettering seemed to leap from the paper. **W E' E. C. 8:00 P.M. K. U' Y.**

"No!" Frank howled. "No, no, no, no!" He dropped the note to the pavement and slammed his fists against the hood of Megan's car. Joe hastily bent and picked it up, then reached to wrap his arms about Frank, restraining and comforting at the same time.

"Frank! We'll get her back – take it easy, take it easy! We will get her back, Frank! Listen to me!"

"I knew I shouldn't have left her here alone – I knew it was dangerous! Why didn't I stay with her?" Frank was nearly hysterical. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I knew better—" He stopped, gasping for breath. "Oh God, what are we going to tell her mother…?"

Joe pushed him towards the van. "Sit down and get hold of yourself!" He flung open the passenger side door and shoved Frank into the seat. "I know it's bad, Frank, but try to calm down, huh? You're acting like me!" He reached for the cell phone and hit the speed dial.

Frank buried his face in his hands, still moaning "…should never have left her here…"

"Mom? Hi, it's Joe. Can you find me the Wrights' phone number? I need to talk to Megan's mom… uh huh – okay, got it. Mom – it looks like Megan's been kidnapped. Do you suppose you could go over to their house, and be with her mom?" He gave the address and directions, then said: "Mom, Frank's pretty broken up. I mean, he's really sort of spaced out, here…any suggestions?" He listened for a few moments, then shook his head. "I'll try. Thanks. Bye."

Dreading what he had to do, Joe called Mrs. Wright and told her what they had found. Her first thought, of course, was to call the police, but Joe reminded her of the note's instructions. "I want to call them too, but I'm afraid it will put Megan in more danger than she is already," he said grimly. "If we follow the instructions, maybe we can get her back with no trouble." He paused, thinking. "Mrs. Wright, does this seem a little – well, odd to you? Ted Crowley has remained so much in the background, this wide-open attack seems out of character. I wonder if maybe whoever it is he has working for him has branched out into something unauthorized, here."

" _I really hadn't thought about it, Joe,"_ Mrs. Wright replied, her voice trembling. _"Right now I'm afraid all I can think about is Megan's safety."_

"I know, I'm sorry," Joe apologized hastily. "It just occurred to me that Ted Crowley may not know about this – or like it when he hears about it. It might be something to remember…. Anyway, my mom is coming over to your house right now. She thought someone ought to be with you. Frank and I will do a little more checking here, and then we'll come over there too. Do you have an extra key to Megan's car? We'll bring it home later, if you do."

" _Yes, I have a key—"_ Mrs. Wright's voice broke. _"Thank you, Joe."_ She hung up quickly.

Joe glanced over at his brother. Frank was still sitting in the van's passenger seat, slumped forward with his head in his hands. Joe winced; he couldn't ever remember seeing Frank so inconsolably shaken. _Poor guy…he must feel like it's open season on girlfriends lately! First Callie leaves, then dumps him – and now this happens to Megan._ Joe stepped forward and put a tentative hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Frank? You okay?"

"Yes." The response was dull and muted; Frank didn't raise his head. Joe felt him shiver beneath the comforting hand.

"Shouldn't we check around – see if anyone saw anything? Ask at the library, maybe?" Joe suggested.

"No one would still be around that was there when she was."

"You don't know that for sure. Come on, surely we can do something," Joe urged.

"You go ahead, then," his brother replied in a deadly monotone.

Joe heaved a sigh and stepped away from the van. He pulled out his cell phone again, and once more punched a single number. "Vanessa? Hi. Are you still tracking Dr. Waring?…He is? Keep an eye on him, Van – Megan's been kidnapped!"


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 13

An hour later, Joe and Frank were coming to the conclusion that no one on campus had noticed anything Megan Wright had done…and that conclusion told them the kidnapping must have taken place shortly after Frank and Megan had parted in the parking lot. No one remembered seeing her at the library, or on the path between the library and the parking lot. She hadn't checked out any books; she hadn't reserved a study carrel. She had simply vanished without a trace.

Other than the dropped chemistry book, there were no clues around Megan's abandoned car. The asphalt surface of the parking lot showed no marks; nothing to indicate whether there had been a struggle of any kind. The car was still locked.

Frank had emerged from his state of shock, and searched and questioned, along with Joe, with his usual thoroughness. But he rarely spoke, other than to ask questions, and his eyes reflected hopelessness and fear and despair.

"Frank, I'm going to go over and get the key to the car from Mrs. Wright," Joe finally announced. "Do you want to come?"

Frank shook his head. "No," he murmured. "I'll stay here – with her car." He leaned against the Accord, staring at the ground. Joe eyed him dubiously a moment, chewing his lip, then sighed, patted him on the shoulder, and went to the van.

##########

They gathered at the Wrights' home: Joe, Frank, Laura, and Megan's mother. Mrs. Wright was white with shock, but was holding up bravely. Laura had made tea, and was sitting beside her on the couch, holding her hand tightly, and encouraging her to remain hopeful that things would work out all right, and that Megan would be returned to her unharmed.

Joe had been pacing restlessly out to the front hall and back, while Frank sat glumly in an armchair. A soft chiming sound echoed through the hall, and they recognized Joe's cell phone's ring.

He flipped it open and snapped "Hello!" then moderated his tone. "Hi, Vanessa… no, nothing….yeah, pretty bad….you what? Are you crazy—huh? He did? Are you sure who he was talking to?….And he said he didn't – okay, okay, I believe you!….I think you'd better get out of there before he gets suspicious…right, okay. We're at Megan's house. Yeah – bye."

The three listeners exchanged confused glances as Joe walked in from the hall. "That was Vanessa," he said unnecessarily. "She's been tracking after Dr. Waring all afternoon and evening at the hospital – and it seems she's managed to overhear a very strange-sounding telephone conversation. I didn't ask her how she did it; I was afraid to!" He paused, smiling grimly. "Apparently he received an extremely irate call from Ted Crowley. Mr. Crowley has become the recipient of an unwanted present, thanks to the efforts of some of his hired thugs, who made an unscheduled and un-approved attempt to get the video tape they've been after." He grinned suddenly. "Vanessa's getting awfully good at this – I hope she doesn't decide to turn to a life of crime, or run off to join the FBI, or something."

Frank had listened dully at first, but now his eyes were starting to glow with awakened hope. "Crowley didn't order her kidnapped?"

"Apparently not," Joe replied. "He's furious at his thugs – and frightened, now. The man who doesn't hesitate to murder apparently didn't want kidnapping added to the charges mounting against him."

"Do you suppose he'll let her go?" Mrs. Wright asked hopefully.

Joe shrugged. "No idea. But he probably won't hurt her – and that's a plus."

"We'll have to go through with the exchange, then?"

"Probably," Frank admitted. "Unless we hear something more from them."

"I wish we could contact the police!" Laura exclaimed.

"We can't take the chance of them hurting Megan," Joe reminded her gently. "Mrs. Wright, do you suppose you could lie down and rest for a while? It's getting late…."

"I don't see how I could possibly sleep," she answered.

Laura hugged her gently. "Joe's right, though. Come along, just come lie down and rest your eyes for a bit." She urged the other woman to her feet and escorted her out of the room.

Left alone, the boys exchanged glances. "Do you think he'll go through with the exchange?" Frank asked, very low.

"He's got to," Joe replied. "He knows we have incriminating evidence on that tape, and he's getting desperate. He wants it back. If he doesn't play the exchange straight, he knows he's toast."

"That means we have to wait until tomorrow night before we can do anything!" Frank groaned. "And in the meantime he has Megan prisoner."

Joe glanced at his watch. "Tomorrow is already today," he noted, "and we have plans to make for that exchange." He stared thoughtfully at his brother. "He'll expect both of us to be there….I wonder…how much do you think Tony could manage to look like you?"

##########

As soon as it was a decent hour the next morning, Joe called Tony Prito. He explained the situation, and as he had expected, Tony was ready, willing and eager to help; he agreed to come to the Hardys' immediately following his classes.

Frank hadn't slept at all. He and Joe had gone home for a few hours, and Joe had sacked out on top of his bed, but Frank had been unable to relax enough to drift off. He kept imagining Megan – frightened…perhaps tied up…perhaps gagged…perhaps mistreated, physically abused by Crowley's hirelings. The vivid images kept flashing in front of his eyes, and prevented any chance of rest. When daylight arrived, he splashed cold water on his face and changed into fresh clothing, then made his way downstairs, where he sat at the kitchen table and continued brooding.

 _Megan…why didn't I stay with you?…why didn't I insist you go home, instead of staying on campus?…You didn't deserve this…._

Joe came stumbling down a few minutes later. He stared searchingly at Frank's drawn face. "You didn't get any sleep, did you?"

"What do you think?" Frank answered. "I kept seeing Megan a prisoner—"

"Frank, we'll get her back. You've got to believe that." Joe gripped his brother's shoulder tightly. "This isn't like you – you're letting yourself be tied up in knots."

"I know…"

"Do you have classes today?" Joe headed for the refrigerator and got out the orange juice. "Want some?" He held up the container questioningly.

Frank's stomach contracted at the thought of trying to eat or drink anything. "No thanks. I have a noon class, yeah." _Shakespeare…Megan said she liked Shakespeare… "I like the comedies best…but every girl loves 'Romeo and Juliet.' " But Juliet died…._ "Huh? Did you say something?"

"I said," Joe repeated patiently, "do you want me to cut school and stick around with you?"

"No – no, of course not. You need to go to school." Frank gave himself a mental kick. "Have you heard anything more from Vanessa?"

"She said Dr. Waring left the hospital shortly after she called me. He's supposed to be on duty today at three o'clock, and she's going to try and watch him again."

"I hope she doesn't get caught – or in trouble with whoever her boss is," Frank observed.

"At this point, I'm not sure she'd care," Joe said sagely. "It's becoming a personal agenda."

 _She's not the only one,_ Frank thought. Aloud he said, "She and Megan really seemed to get along—" He stopped abruptly as his voice cracked on the final words.

"Hey." Joe stared across the table at his miserable older brother. The usual mischievous glint in his eyes was totally missing now. "She and Megan do get along, and they will continue to get along, after all this is over. Right? Right?"

Frank summoned a wan smile. "Right."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 14

Somehow the day dragged itself on. Frank was absolutely certain he had never seen the clocks move so slowly. After Joe left for school, he had thrown himself into reading _Henry IV_ , but the words might as well have been so much Polish or Vietnamese, for all the understanding he gained. He glanced at his wristwatch every couple of minutes, willing time to speed up, aching for the evening hours to come. He had rarely felt so helpless.

Plays of William Shakespeare, in all likelihood, saved Frank's sanity that afternoon. He was forced to go to the college campus for his class; forced to sit and pay attention to the lecture; forced to think of something other than Megan Wright and the terrible scenarios provided by an overactive imagination. He concentrated fiercely on the professor's words, took notes with careful precision, conscientiously underlined and highlighted phrases.

But when the buzzer sounded, and he recalled that he and Megan had agreed to meet for lunch following his Shakespeare class, Frank felt as if someone was twisting his stomach into knots. He walked slowly to the student center, knowing he needed something to eat – but the only thing he could manage to choke down was half a Coke. He sat alone at one of the outside tables, taking an occasional sip and watching the ebb and flow of the other students around him. Eventually he simply gave up and went home.

##########

At four o'clock Tony Prito arrived at the Hardys' home, and soon afterwards, Joe pulled into the driveway. He was talking on his cell phone as he walked into the kitchen, where Tony and Frank were sitting.

"…I don't think it's a good idea for you to be sticking so close to him. Hasn't the man got eyes? You'd think he'd notice you've been hanging around him like he's Albert Schweitzer, or something." Joe glanced at his brother and mouthed _Vanessa_. Frank nodded. He had figured as much. "Okay, okay, I know…just keep me posted, all right? Stay in touch. I get antsy when I don't hear from you… All right. Bye."

"She's still keeping tabs on Gerald Waring, I take it?" Frank inquired.

"Yup." Joe flopped down on a chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "She says there's always a chance that he'll go see Crowley – or Megan – today."

Frank hadn't thought of that possibility – that Waring might lead them to Megan. He suddenly didn't feel nearly so concerned about Vanessa's insistence on watching the doctor; she might be of vital importance.

"Let's see just how much we can make Tony look like you," Joe was saying now. He got up and beckoned the other two boys toward the stairs. "Tony, you're not as tall as Frank, but if we don't stand together, it shouldn't be too noticeable. And maybe no one knows us well enough for it to make any difference."

They decided Tony's jeans, shirt and athletic shoes were perfectly acceptable; he and Frank were both dressed in the usual "college casual" attire. Frank provided a leather jacket that he often wore. Tony carefully combed his dark hair into a style similar to Frank's, and the boys were amazed at how it changed his appearance.

"Still…" Joe tilted his head to one side and studied his friend carefully. "Wearing a baseball cap is probably a good idea. It'll shield your features, in case anyone's watching us arrive. And I'd bet quite a lot that someone will be watching."

Tony pulled the cap on, tugging the bill down over his eyes. Then he pulled Frank to stand beside him, facing the mirror over Frank's dresser. "Well? Will I do?"

They stared at their reflections. Other than the height discrepancy, and the fact that Tony's skin was a slightly darker shade, they looked amazingly alike. In a parking lot, at a distance – even with the bright floodlights to lift the darkness – he could easily pass as Frank.

"Good enough," Frank approved.

Tony heaved a sigh of relief and took off the jacket and cap. "Too hot, right now," he observed. "Okay, I understand I'm passing myself off as you. But where are you going to be while I'm standing out there in the parking lot, possibly letting myself get shot at or something?"

Frank smiled grimly and took something out of his pocket. "See this?" He held up a key. "Mrs. Wright gave it to me. It's Megan's key to the office building at Crowley Manufacturing. While you and Joe are carefully presenting yourselves and that tape to Crowley in front, I will have gone in the back entrance of the building. And I'm going to find Megan and get her out."

"But I thought the whole idea was to make an exchange?" Tony looked baffled. "You don't think they'll give her up, once they have the tape?"

"No, I don't," Frank replied. "I don't think Crowley has any intention of letting her go; she knows too much. You and Joe are the distraction I have to have, to give me time to find her."

"The computer security codes shouldn't be in effect, since people will be in the building," Joe commented. "That's extremely lucky. We couldn't have managed those."

"What if she's guarded, Frank?" Tony knew he was asking obvious questions, but he felt it served to keep Frank's mind occupied. And who knew, it might be important.

"It's a risk I have to take," the elder Hardy replied. "The hardest part will be finding out where she is."

A soft tap on the door announced Mrs. Hardy's presence. "Boys, there are hamburgers on the kitchen table; no reason for you to go into this without anything to eat. Frank—" and she looked sternly at her son, "that means I expect you to eat something too. I am going over to the Wrights' in a few minutes. Megan's mother and Andrea Bender and I are going to be at that parking lot tonight too."

"Mom – you?" Joe blurted. Then he turned red. "Uh – I didn't mean—"

"Mrs. Wright has every right to be there, Joe. And she needs someone with her. Andrea and I decided we were the most logical ones. Did you have an objection to that?"

"No, Mom, no." Joe shook his head vigorously. "It's great of you to be there for Mrs. Wright."

Laura gave him a warm smile, but all she said was "Better go eat."

The three boys went downstairs to the kitchen. Laura made sure they had everything they needed, then departed. Joe and Tony dug into the food with ravenous appetites; Frank managed a few bites of his hamburger and a couple of French fries, and had to admit it did make him feel a little better.

Five-thirty, now, still too light outside to make any attempt at getting into the Crowley office building. Frank went back upstairs, leaving Joe and Tony engrossed in a video game, and changed into black jeans and a dark shirt, then added a dark blue denim jacket. He recalled there were trees and shrubbery behind the building; any chance of concealment would be welcome. He suddenly wished a large, noisy rainstorm would blow up – perhaps some thunder and lightning – creating lots of noise and commotion. However, a glance outside showed him that such a storm was unlikely.

Frank carefully filled his pockets with every conceivable item he could think of, that could help him in his endeavor: lock picks…tiny flashlight…his cell phone…Swiss army knife…some lengths of lightweight cord…handkerchief. Finally satisfied he was as well prepared as possible, he went back downstairs.

"I can't wait any longer. I'm going to go over there now, and try to get in."

Joe looked up from the screen, his fingers pausing on the game controls. "Now? But it's not even six o'clock yet!"

"I know, but I think I'll need time to get in and find where Megan's being held." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'll set this for messaging, so you can contact me. Let me know if you hear anything from Vanessa about Waring leaving the hospital, or anything like that. I want to know who all I have to deal with. See you guys later."

##########

Frank swung his motorcycle quietly into the parking lot furthest from Crowley Manufacturing's office building. He was relieved to note that there were other vehicles still around; apparently the company did work late on week nights, so his cycle wouldn't be too noticeable. He walked casually toward the office; just one more person on an errand.

Dusk was setting in now, and the light-sensor parking lot lights were just beginning to glow an eerie purple. Frank glanced around once or twice as he slipped between parked cars, and saw what looked like Andrea Bender's black Jaguar, but he couldn't be certain it was hers without closer examination. Still, the thought of Andrea, his mother, and Mrs. Wright sitting watchfully in the Jag made him smile just a little. He hoped, however, that they hadn't noticed _him_!

 _Close now…just around this corner…ohhhh, yes…_ There were bushes, a ten-foot-high row of photinia with dark red leaves, extending along the back of the building. Frank shrank into the welcome concealment with a sigh of relief. _So far, so good._ He felt in his pocket for the key Mrs. Wright had given him, and crept silently to the door.

The security code pad was steady green, and Frank offered silent thanks. He cautiously tried the door, just in case, but it was locked. He inserted the key; turned it – and was inside.

Moving as quickly as he dared but realizing he had to remain silent, Frank paced unfamiliar blank back hallways. _Where would Crowley have Megan? Basement? A storage room? Someplace as obvious as his office?_ He decided to start with the obvious, and followed the "fire exit" signs toward the stairs. Once inside the stairwell, he relaxed a tiny bit, although he knew well that if someone entered it, he had no place to hide.

Feeling a vibration in his pocket, Frank pulled out his cell phone and with a start, read a message from Joe:

 _Vanessa called. Waring took off from hospital about 5 minutes ago, after phone conversation with unknown – she couldn't manage to get near the main desk where the calls come in, this time! Be CAREFUL, guy! Tony and I will be there earlier than we planned. J._

 _So! Waring was coming!_ Frank re-pocketed the phone and continued up the stairs. When he reached the third floor, he cracked the door open and surveyed the hallway. Empty…but Crowley's office was around the corner, he knew. _Here goes nothing…._

Sticking close to the wall, Frank edged his way down the corridor, walking as silently as he could, barely breathing – and listening for any sounds of human occupancy. _Megan – if you're here, make some noise, baby! Give me some kind of sign!_

He stopped at the corner and flattened himself against the wall, then leaned forward just enough to peek around the edge of the wall. The hallway stretched before him, empty. But there was a light shining onto the floor, partway down…Crowley's office door was open! Frank drew back, eyes shut tight as he concentrated. _Was the closet on_ _this_ _side of the office? Yes, yes it was…now, can I get in there without making any noise?_

Stepping around that corner felt like walking into a mine field. Frank took it one slow step at a time, mentally thanking all his lucky stars that Ted Crowley had chosen to carpet the hallways in his office building. He reached the closet door – and now he could hear soft rustling noises from Crowley's office – sounds of papers being shuffled, perhaps; file drawers being opened and closed. Cautiously, carefully, Frank put pressure on the doorknob of the closet, gently twisted it – and slithered inside, silent as a ghost. He shut the door, and stood stock-still, attempting to catch his breath.

When his heart finally stopped trying to batter itself through his chest wall, Frank gulped a few more breaths, then pulled out his penlight and switched it on. Nothing had changed since his last visit; the paper supplies were still there, the mop and pail hadn't been moved. _At least I'm on familiar ground!_

He was reaching for a cup, hoping to repeat the success of his last visit to this closet, when he heard rapid footsteps go past his hiding place, and then voices, loud and clear. This time he didn't need the cup.

"What do you think you are doing?" Frank recognized the voice from the video tape: Dr. Gerald Waring had arrived.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" another voice snarled. _Crowley!_ Frank caught his breath. "I'm cutting my losses and getting out of here!"

"Getting out! What do you mean? You can't just leave me to take the rap for all your schemes! And what about her?"

 _Her? Megan? Was she right there, on the other side of the wall?_

"Aauugghh!" Crowley made a sound of disgust. "Those morons! They thought I'd like something to exchange for that damned video tape – so they snatch Wright's daughter! Well, I wanted the tape, all right, but it's too late to trade now. She's seen and heard way too much. I can't let her go." More rustling of papers and the slam of another drawer.

"Do you have to keep her gagged like that?" Waring sounded almost sympathetic.

"Just try taking it off, and see what kind of response you get!" Crowley sneered. "I tried it, earlier today. They don't teach little girls properly anymore; you should have heard the things she said!" He laughed roughly.

Frank's heart contracted at the words. _Attagirl, Megan, I hope you gave him hell!_

Silence for a moment, then, amazingly, another familiar voice. "Thank you for taking that off, Dr. Waring…but Mr. Crowley's right. And my opinion of you is second only to my opinion of him. I think you are both lying, cheating murderers; you killed my father as well as a lot of helpless patients in the hospital, and—"

A sharp _smack_ interrupted her words. Frank heard her gasp, then go silent; and he clenched his fists in fury.

"Shut up, you little brat!" Crowley howled. "Unless you want some more of the same, keep that little trap shut!"

"Crowley, you didn't need to hit her like that," Waring protested.

"I'll hit you a whole lot harder if you don't shut up, too!"

More rustling of papers…and then Waring spoke again, and his words made Frank's blood freeze.

"What are you doing? You aren't really going to set the building on fire, are you?"

"Why not?" Crowley laughed, a trifle hysterically. "Maybe the insurance will pay off on it! Isn't that where all this started, Waring? The insurance – those lovely, convenient life insurance policies…only they stopped dying, Waring! Why wouldn't they just die?"

"I'm getting out of here!" Waring shouted. "You've gone completely crazy!"

"Go on, then! And when that tape comes to light, just how long do you think you'll have before Bayport's finest come knocking on your door, Doctor Waring? Did you think of that? Maybe you'd better stick with me on this – you coward!"

"Don't you call me a coward!" raged Waring. Frank, trapped helplessly in the storage room, trying to figure out where each person was, next door, heard the doctor close to his wall now. "I'm not a coward – I just have more brains than you, Crowley!"

An inarticulate bellow of rage from Crowley was the only response; and then Frank heard the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh once again. He cringed, hoping Megan was not the recipient of the violence, and heard more blows being delivered. Waring and Crowley were evidently fighting. Frank cracked the closet door open, just enough to admit light from the hall and amplify the sounds from the office. He waited, holding his breath.

"Unnh!" Waring grunted sharply, and Frank heard a snort of satisfaction from Crowley. And then, one more sharp _smack_ of a fist – and a sudden rush of footsteps. Frank peered through the crack of the door, and saw Gerald Waring tear past, running as if his life depended on it. There was no sound from Ted Crowley.

Frank waited – ten seconds…twenty…thirty. Still hearing no sound at all, he dared to exit the storage room and flattened himself against the wall beside the office door. He cautiously peered around the doorjamb.

Ted Crowley lay sprawled on the floor of his office, apparently knocked cold. Megan Wright was seated on a couch against one wall, her hands and feet tied. A strip of cloth – apparently the gag – hung loosely about her neck. Her right cheek bore a red mark, and was beginning to swell. She was watching Crowley as if he were a poisonous serpent.

"Megan…" Frank whispered, and stepped into the doorway.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 15

Azure eyes lighted like stars.

"Frank!" The syllable was part gasp, part cry. "Oh, Frank!"

Frank was across the room in three bounds, skirting Ted Crowley's unconscious form. He whipped out his knife, and severed Megan's bonds with a few quick, careful strokes.

"Come on, let's get out of here…" Frank suddenly sniffed, and looked more closely at his surroundings. "What's that smell? It smells like – oh my gosh – gasoline?"

Megan nodded, clinging to his arm as she attempted to get to her feet. "Mr. Crowley was pouring it around – on the floor and the desk. Oh, Frank, he was going to set the building on fire and leave me!"

As she spoke, Crowley stirred. The two teens froze, then Frank began quietly making his way toward the office door, half-carrying Megan. He had made it perhaps halfway when Crowley shook his head and pushed himself onto his elbows. He stared about him for a few seconds, then his eyes fell upon Frank and Megan.

"Where do you think you're going, you little—" The man lunged to his knees, fumbling in a jacket pocket as he did so.

"Megan! Come on! Run!" Frank leaped for the door, dragging Megan after him. Crowley, roaring inarticulately, pulled out a pistol and fired. Frank instinctively threw himself forward and down, and the bullet skimmed over his head. He heard a sharp _ping!_ as it hit something, then he was rolling and scrambling for the door, still tugging Megan behind him with one hand. Crowley fired again, and again Frank heard the pinging sound.

There came a sudden _whoosh,_ as a spark flew from the impact of a bullet on the brass table lamp to land on the gasoline-soaked carpeting – and the office exploded into flames!

"Come on!" Frank scrambled to his feet and yanked hard, pulling Megan upright and out the door. "We've got to get out of here!"

"What about him?" she screamed. "We can't just leave him to burn up, can we?"

Before Frank could answer, the bark of the gun echoed through the hallway, and another bullet whizzed past his head. Ted Crowley wasn't giving up.

"I'm not going to try to save someone who's trying to pump bullets into me!" Frank yelled. "Come on!"

Their hesitation proved unwise, for the flames and smoke were spreading rapidly into the hall. Megan tried to run, but her feet were numb from being tied up. She stumbled, then fell to her knees.

"Frank! I can't wal—" She broke off, coughing violently as a wave of smoke rolled over them.

"Yes you can! You've got to!" Now Frank was coughing too. He fumbled in a pocket for his handkerchief, but couldn't locate it. He pulled Megan to her feet once more, and put a supportive arm about her. "Come on – you can—" He gasped for breath, and inhaled more smoke.

Megan reached for the gag that hung about her neck. She pulled it up over her nose, hoping to filter out a little of the smoke, then grasped Frank's hand tightly. "Okay! Let's go!" she shrieked over the roaring of the spreading fire. Together, they started toward the stairs at the far end of the hall, at times barely able to see through the thickening smoke.

Behind them, Ted Crowley yelled again, and they heard him stumbling in pursuit. Just as they reached the doorway to the stairs, there was another resounding _whoosh!_ and the fire seemed to leap after them.

"What did he do?" Frank gasped. "Dump gas all over the whole building?" He spotted a fire alarm box on the wall, and smashed the glass, setting the alarm ringing. He lurched against the wall for a moment, gasping for breath, then he staggered toward the stairwell, feeling the heat enveloping them.

"I think so." Megan leaned heavily against the railing as they made their way down the stairs. "I think he started pouring it down on the first floor." They heard another explosion as the fire made another leap.

"Is there an automatic sprinkler system?" Frank yelled as he leaped down two steps at a time. Megan gamely tried to follow his example.

"I don't know!"

Above them, the door was yanked open, and footsteps thundered down the stairs. Ted Crowley was still in pursuit! Frank was beginning to feel lightheaded from a combination of exertion and smoke, but he didn't dare stop to rest. If Crowley didn't catch them, the deadly fire would.

Down, down, and around. Frank reached the doorway into the first-floor hallway and shoved the door open, gasping in the relatively smoke-free air with relief. But the emotion was short-lived, for again Crowley's gun spat above them, and Megan screamed as a bullet smacked into the wall just above her head. She leaped through the doorway after Frank and they dashed for the main entrance.

They had nearly made it when Ted Crowley burst through the stairwell door. He was screaming at them to stop, waving his gun at them, wild-eyed and incoherent; and Frank pulled Megan to a halt, trying to shield her with his body. He was desperately afraid Crowley was going to shoot them both, but didn't dare make a break for the door.

But Ted Crowley had an even more demonic plan in mind. Juggling the pistol in one hand, he pulled a lighter and a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, and held the flame to the paper.

"Crowley, don't be a fool!" Frank shouted, but his voice was raw and hoarse from smoke, and he began coughing violently. Crowley uttered a raucous laugh, and tossed the burning paper to the gasoline-sprinkled carpet, then jumped back as flames shot up and traveled rapidly towards the place where Frank and Megan stood. Through the fire, Frank saw their adversary turn and dart toward the back hall, away from them.

"Frank, we've got to get out!" Megan screamed between coughs, tugging on his arm. But the elder Hardy was doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath in the billowing smoke, and couldn't manage to respond to her exhortations. His knees buckled, and he leaned heavily on her shoulder.

"I – I can't – can't breathe—"

The sharp sound of shattering glass interrupted him, and suddenly two dark-clad figures were beside them. One grabbed Megan; the other seized Frank about the waist and held him up.

"We got tired of waiting for you!" Joe bellowed in his older brother's ear. "Do you always have to do these things with so much noise and fuss? Come on, we've got to get out of here, now!"

Frank felt himself half-shoved, half-carried forward. He was reaching for Megan, trying vainly to find her amid the smoke, when one more loud _whoosh_ sounded; the roar of the fire increased to a deafening thunder, and Frank felt himself lofted into the air and flung forward. For a second or two he was airborne, then he hit the ground with an impact that knocked out the little air he had remaining in his lungs. Multicolored sparks flew across his vision…and faded into blackness.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **September Song**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 16

Frank re-entered the conscious world very slowly. At first he was dimly aware of sensations: the feel of cloth against his skin; the fact that his throat hurt and his chest ached each time he took a breath; the desire to cough without the strength to do it. Then, there was sound: distant telephones ringing; footsteps approaching and receding without ever coming close; muted voices. Somewhere in his subconscious he realized he was in a hospital.

Recollections went through his mind: a fire…bullets whining past his head…running frantically through hallways, dragging someone by the hand…a sudden rush of fresh air. An explosion…the sensation of flight followed by impact of landing… _MEGAN!_

It seemed to the half-conscious boy that he screamed the name; in reality, all that came out was a barely-audible whisper.

"Time was, he'd have been asking for me!" a familiar voice tinged with amusement remarked.

Frank turned his head slightly, toward that voice. "Joe?" he rasped, and struggled to open his eyes.

"I'm right here, Frank. Just take it easy."

Frank felt a hand grasp his. He blinked and his blurred gaze found a focal point: a pair of blue eyes, a shock of blonde hair; an encouraging grin.

"How you doin'?" Joe inquired.

"I ache all over…" Frank admitted, his voice hoarse. Worry surged through him again. "Joe – where's Megan?"

Joe's grin widened. "Turn your head," he suggested, indicating the direction.

Gingerly, Frank swiveled his head on the pillow – and beheld a vision.

Megan was sitting beside his bed. She was dressed in a white robe, and her face was very pale; so pale each of the tiny freckles scattered across her nose showed up like new copper pennies. Her right cheek was swollen, her chin was scraped, and it appeared that a black eye was imminent. But she was smiling; her elusive dimple was in evidence, and the uninjured eye shone like a star. To Frank's eyes, she resembled a battered and somewhat war-torn angel.

"Welcome back," she murmured, and took his other hand.

Relief flooded him like a warm wave. "I was afraid you were hurt…" he rasped, then coughed, wincing at the pain it caused him.

"Here." Joe had released his hand, and was holding a glass with a straw out to him. "Drink some of this; maybe it will help." Frank took the glass in a shaky grip as Joe touched a button on the hospital bed to raise him to a more upright position. He sipped carefully, finding the water a blessed relief to his sore throat, then handed the glass back to Joe.

"I'm fine," Megan said, and Frank noticed that her voice had the same rasping quality that his did. _Smoke – that's from the smoke…_ "Thanks to you, I'm fine."

Memory was returning now. "Ted Crowley…?" Frank glanced from Megan to Joe. Joe shook his head and looked down; Megan sighed and squeezed Frank's fingers.

"They found his body—" she said, very quietly. "He didn't make it out of the building."

Sorrow at anyone's death, even the evil Crowley, mixed with relief and a bitter sense of vindication in Frank's mind. He exhaled slowly, a long, tired sigh. "Dr. Waring?"

"The police caught up with him at his home. Can you believe it?" Joe chuckled. "The postal service came through for us, whether we wanted them to or not – Con got that tape this afternoon! Waring's in custody and singing like a canary," he continued. "He's confessed to four murders of terminal patients at the hospital. But he says he didn't have anything to do with Megan's dad's death – insists it was Crowley who did the actual deed. Apparently, they caught him at the house – after he'd hidden the tape. Poured whiskey down his throat and then simply put his car in gear and aimed it off the edge of the road. Waring was there – and along with all the other indictments, he'll get nailed as an accessory for it – but swears he wasn't responsible for that one, at least. Ah, well, he'll be in prison for the rest of his life."

"I didn't want this," Megan murmured. "I wanted Ted Crowley punished, but I didn't want him dead." Frank tightened his fingers around hers. Then he glanced at his brother inquiringly.

"Why am I here, anyway?" He moved his legs experimentally, glanced down at his arms. No IV tubes. No casts or bandages. Some bruises and scrapes, but nothing major.

"Well, you've been unconscious for a couple of hours, and your lungs were pretty full of smoke," Joe told him. "They had you on oxygen for a while. The doctor said once you woke up and your lungs were clear, he'd release you. But you're going to have to take it easy for a few days."

"Taking it easy sounds like a pretty good idea," Frank admitted. He coughed again, and this time it was Megan who handed him the glass of water. "Is Mom here?"

Joe grinned. "Of course. And – surprise! – Dad too. He got home about an hour ago, and came right to the hospital when he got Mom's message."

"Tony…?"

"In the waiting room, with everyone else. Vanessa and her mom are here too, and Megan's mom."

"She brought me this robe," Megan held up her sleeve. "She said I looked dorky in a hospital robe. And my clothes reeked of smoke."

 _Dorky? No way! You wouldn't look dorky in a gunny sack…._ "But you're sure you're okay? If you were admitted to the hospital—"

"It's all right," she assured him. "They just checked me over; said I should rest for a while. But I can leave whenever I want to." She smiled. "I had that gag over my face, remember? It kept out some of the smoke; I didn't inhale nearly as much as you did."

Frank smiled tiredly. "Everything's back to normal, then. Crooks caught, case solved. Right beats might—" He broke off, coughing again.

"See what happens when you smart off?" Joe reproved. He reached for the controls of the bed. "Maybe you should lie down again for a while."

"No don't, it's easier to breathe this way." Frank stopped him with an upraised hand. "I'm okay. Just tired."

"I'm going to go tell Mom and Dad that you're awake," Joe said. He glanced at Megan over Frank's head and winked, then headed for the door.

As the door swung shut behind Joe, Megan stood up and moved nearer. "I was never so happy about anything in my whole life as when I saw you come into that room!" she said softly, and smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead.

Frank returned her smile. "I was pretty happy when I found you there myself. More than happy. Ecstatic…overjoyed…jubilant…totally relieved…."

Her usually bubbling laughter sounded a bit like she was growling, due to the smoke, but there was no mistaking the twinkle in her eye. "You've been learning a lot of pretty words somewhere."

"Not just pretty words," he assured her. "I knew you meant a lot to me – and when I thought I'd lost you, I realized just how much. It felt like a piece of my heart was ripped away. You're – you're more than special to me, Megan…much, much more."

Frank reached to cup her uninjured cheek with his hand, then drew her close. A little smile played around her mouth, and she mimicked the gesture, putting her own hand gently against his cheek.

"Joe told me you were terribly upset." She waited a beat, then continued. "He also told me something else."

Frank raised an inquiring eyebrow – at least _that_ didn't hurt! "Sometimes Joe has a big mouth. What did he tell you?"

"He told me about your girlfriend who went to Colorado and then wrote, dumping you." Her eyes held a very tender expression. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"It's – done with now. Over. Kaput. She's happy out there. I'm – am I happy here?" he suddenly questioned her, smiling a little.

"I want you to be happy here," Megan whispered. "Frank, you're more than special to me, too. I liked you the minute I saw you. I wanted to be friends – more than friends." She paused a moment, then went on, leaning closer still. "You not only solved the case I asked you to, Frank Hardy of the famous Hardy Boys, you saved my life. You risked your own life for mine. That's something I can never repay, never say enough _thank yous_ for. I can't make it up to you, or even make you understand how much you mean to me…."

Frank pulled her even nearer, and as her lips touched his, she whispered, "But I intend to spend a very long time trying."

The End


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